


Cypress

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gin - Freeform, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Summer of Zechs, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-09 18:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Zechs finally takes a much needed vacation and has an interesting first night in Key West.For the Summer of Zechs Festival on Tumblr. June 6th prompt: vacation





	1. Chapter 1

June 6: Vacation

 

A/N: Thank you always to Ro. You are an incredible beta reader.

A/N2: I’ve never stayed at the Cypress House Hotel, and I’ve only been to a few of the places I describe and I could only find a partial floor plan so I’m making some of this up. A lot of this up.

 

Warnings: language and drinks

Pairings: 6x3

 

 

 

 

“Welcome to the Cypress House Hotel, Mr. Merquise.”

The receptionist was tan, blond and very attractive.

After a five-hour flight and a two-hour layover, Zechs felt weary, achy and in desperate need of a shower. The receptionist's smile, however, went a considerable way towards rejuvenating him.

Zechs felt his own lips curl in a reflection of the other man’s expression.

“It’s good to be here,” he said as he accepted his room key from the man.

“Shall I show you to your room, sir?”

Zechs looked for a nametag on the man’s shirt to identify him. Alex. He had dated an Alex in college. He wondered what he was doing these days.

“Sure,” he said, hefting his bag and stepping to the side so that Alex could lead the way.

And so that he could admire the man’s ass in the khaki shorts that were  _ just _ this side of painted on.

They walked down the hallway and outside to the walkway alongside the pool.

“At four-thirty every afternoon, we have a cocktail hour, with drinks and a few light snacks. You should have some time to relax before then.”

Zechs spared a glance at the pool. It was heated, he recalled from the brochure, and open twenty-four hours a day. At the moment, it was relatively empty, occupied by two women who were definitely a couple, or at least on rather intimate terms.

He had read that Cypress House was  _ not _ a family-friendly hotel, and that had been his main criteria for choosing it.

Alex walked through a shaded courtyard, thick-trunked reddish-brown trees with crooked branches spiralling upwards and offering up a dark green canopy. A few cats were sunning themselves in the handful of spots where sunlight streamed through the trees, dozing on the red pavers, completely unconcerned when Alex and Zechs walked by. 

There were a handful of adirondack chairs and side tables, one occupied by a man wearing a straw fedora, his face obscured by aviator sunglasses and the tablet he held in one hand.

There were doors to three rooms inside the courtyard, and Alex led Zechs to the room opposite the courtyard entrance.

As they passed by him, the man lowered the tablet and followed their progress.

“Here you are, Mr. Merquise,” Alex grinned at him, and Zechs pulled the key from his pocket.

“Zechs, please.”

“Zechs, then.” Alex took the key and opened the room for him.

Zechs was greeted by a gust of cold air and he sighed in relief.

It wasn’t unpleasant outside - far from it - but he had spent most of the day overheated, on a plane, sandwiched between a fighting couple who had been moved to business class and who refused to let him switch seats with one of them.

“Can I get you anything, or give you a hand unpacking?” Alex asked.

In the courtyard, the man made a strangled sound that could have been a laugh or a cough.

“I’m fine,” Zechs assured the receptionist. He had admired the view, had even entertained the possibility briefly, but he couldn’t say he really had much interest in sleeping with the hotel clerk - especially not if he was propositioning Zechs in front of another guest.

Alex shrugged.

“Let me know if you change your mind. See you at four-thirty.”

And with that, he was gone.

“Good call,” the man in the adirondack said after Alex had disappeared. “I’m pretty sure he keeps a diary of all his conquests. He keeps talking about this tell-all book he wants to write about life in Key West.”

_ That _ sounded thoroughly unpleasant.

“Which chapter will you be?” Zechs asked.

The man chuckled, a rich baritone that washed over Zechs.

“Hopefully buried in chapter six or seven.”

“Your performance didn’t merit the opening act?”

The man laughed again and removed his glasses, revealing a pair of eyes as green as the canopy overhead.

“ _ My _ performance merited a glowing review from the  _ New York Times _ . His, on the other hand…” the man trailed off with a slight, theatrical shudder.

Zechs found himself chuckling and relaxing into the banter.

“You should probably reset your thermostat before you go out tonight - the air conditioner units work  _ very _ well, and the extra blankets are on the thin side.”

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

“Offering to keep me warm?”

The corner of the man’s full lips tilted upwards.

“I might have a sweater that fits you. But,” he added with a languid stretch of his legs and a slow glance over Zechs’s body, “that’s my room, in case you need me.” He indicated the door of the room to the right of Zechs’s own.

“Good to know.”

The man put his glasses back on and returned his attention to the tablet in his hands.

Zechs turned back to his room just as the man called out again.

“Leather Master is open until ten every night, in case you need to stock up on anything.”

_ That _ almost had Zechs turning back around, but he felt confident that was exactly what the man wanted.

Instead, Zechs hefted his bag.

“Perhaps I can pick up a throw while I’m there,” he said over his shoulder.

He closed his hotel door to the sound of the other man’s laughter, a smirk on his own face, and decided this much-needed vacation was off to a good start.

 

-o-

 

It had been just after three when Zechs checked in and, after resetting the thermostat to seventy-five, he took a shower, scrubbing off the smell and feel of a day spent travelling.

He used the hotel blow-dryer on his hair. He preferred to let it dry naturally, but considering the amount of time  _ that _ endeavor took, he went the route of expediency.

Even so, it was four forty-five when Zechs made his way over to the pool for the advertised cocktail hour.

He had changed into fitted gray canvas trousers and a pale pink linen shirt. It was warm enough to wear sandals, but considering his plans for later in the evening, Zechs opted for his leather boat shoes.

There was a gentle breeze stirring the plants in the courtyard and the dresses of a few of the women - including the couple from the pool he had seen earlier.

Zechs made his way over to the bar, unsurprisingly manned by Alex.

“You look refreshed,” the man offered up another grin.

“I feel it,” Zechs agreed.

“What can I get you to start your vacation off right?”

There wasn’t a menu, but the collection of liquor bottles looked fairly standard.

“Gin and tonic,” Zechs ordered.

Alex arched an eyebrow.

“A G&T for the first drink of your  _ vacation _ ? No, no, no. That I cannot do.”

Zechs pursed his lips, trying to decide whether to be amused or offended.

“Order something complicated or he takes it as a personal insult.”

He turned at the voice, already familiar, and saw the man from earlier standing just to his left.

He too had changed, abandoning the shorts, t-shirt and hat he had been wearing earlier. Without his hat, his hair was revealed to be a rich auburn, the afternoon sun playing up the red streaking through it. He was wearing fitted, dark wash jeans and a green v-neck t-shirt that revealed quite a lot of tan skin on his sternum, as well as a necklace of small, dark beads. He was still wearing his sunglasses, and he was still smirking.

_ Any _ thoughts of pursuing a liaison with Alex were completely scoured from Zechs’s mind.

“I’ll have a French 75,” the man said. “You might want to try one, if gin is your drink.”

Gin  _ was _ Zechs’s drink and, it turned out after sipping the slightly fizzing concoction that Alex passed to both him and Trowa, so was a French 75.

“I never would have thought to mix gin and champagne,” he mused.

“Just don’t spend your entire night drinking them,” the auburn haired man advised as they moved away from the bar and commandeered one of the cafe tables near the pool.

One of the hotel staff walked by and placed a small but impressive fruit and cheese plate on the table between them.

“So, Zechs, right?”

The man had obviously heard him tell Alex his name.

He nodded.

“First time in Key West?”

“My first time since I was twenty-one and already hungover when I boarded the plane to fly down.”

The man laughed, and Zechs was fairly confident that the sound of his amusement was addictive.

“You?” Zechs asked.

“Trowa,” the man said, popping a grape into his mouth and then holding out his hand for Zechs to shake.

He wasn’t sure which one of them lingered more, but after a firm shake and a subtle caress of fingers against palms, Trowa settled back in his seat and picked up his drink to take another sip.

“Not my first time,” he added when Zechs raised an eyebrow.

“Considering that my recollections from my  _ last _ trip are hazy at best, perhaps I could take advantage of your experience?”

Trowa’s lips twitched.

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

Zechs wished he could see the other man’s eyes.

“If your plan was to recreate the misspent days of your youth, I’m probably not the best tour guide though.”

“Did you just call me old?”

“Mature,” Trowa assured him. 

Zechs considered the other man. He  _ had _ been the one to mention Leather Master. It was clear Trowa was a few years younger than Zechs, but at thirty-five, Zechs wasn’t entirely sure  _ mature _ was the most flattering way to describe himself.

“All I meant,” Trowa spoke up, his voice just a bit rushed and his cheeks just a little pink, “is that I’m not here on vacation.”

Interesting, that Trowa had clearly revealed more about himself than he had intended to, and even more interesting that he wasn’t on vacation.

“How unfortunate for you that your work forces you to spend time in Key West.”

Trowa smirked and took another sip of his drink.

They reached for the last grape at the same time, and when Zechs hesitated, Trowa nimbly lifted it away.

“I’ll feed it to you,” he offered with a wicked little smirk.

Zechs felt his lips curve in an answering smirk, but he leaned forward and parted his lips.

Trowa placed the grape between them, his thumb lingering in a caress as he traced over Zechs’s skin.

“I’m a travel writer,” Trowa said as he pulled away and sat back.

“There aren’t already travel guides to Key West?” Zechs asked, being in possession of two of them and having swamped his email with notifications from no fewer than four travel blogs that focused on Key West. He had  _ really _ needed this vacation.

“Sure, but not with my expert tips to guide you.”

Zechs realized he had smiled more in Trowa’s company this afternoon than he had for the entire previous month.

The sun had slipped behind the two storey hotel, the late afternoon sky a riot of ambers and violets, and Trowa removed his sunglasses. He hung them from the v of his shirt, pulling it even lower, and Zechs couldn’t help but notice there was a tattoo of some sort over the man’s heart.

“I write for a blog that focuses on millennial lifestyles.”

Zechs arched an eyebrow and glanced around. The Cypress House Hotel wasn’t the most expensive hotel in Key West, but it was far from the cheapest.

Trowa clearly knew what he was thinking.

“My boss insisted I stay here - they have a focus on eco-friendly service, you know.”

“I do know. My sister spent almost twenty minutes berating me for even  _ thinking _ about staying somewhere else because apparently the Cypress House is so enlightened.”

“I should also point out that not all millennials are woefully poor - and even those of us who are like to see what the other side lives like.”

That was a fair enough point, and Zechs could imagine reading about all of the delights of Key West - regardless of price point - would appeal to everyone. Even millennials. He hated that term, more  _ for _ millennials than anything else. He was just on the cusp between generation x and the millennial generation, and he had been called on more than once to “explain” the younger generation, as if they were something that needed to be  _ explained _ .

“So if I spend the evening with you, will I be escorting you to dive bars or overpriced night clubs?”

“Escort, huh? Are you a Victorian gentleman, or do I need to pay for your services?”

“You are the one who called me  _ mature _ .”

Trowa pinked again, just a little, at that. 

Zechs had been with younger men, and while he didn’t have a preference for them, he wasn’t against the idea of playing up whatever kink Trowa clearly had for older men. Even if, he reminded himself, he  _ wasn’t _ old.

“I wasn’t implying you were some kind of hundred year old vampire,” Trowa muttered. He finished off his drink.

“ _ If _ you wanted to escort me, then I can promise you an evening of good gin and better music.”

“What  _ kind _ of music?” Zechs had to ask, having been lured to too many awful concerts in his youth by a pretty face and ‘good’ music.

Trowa smirked, but he stood up without answering.

“Want to find out?”

 

-o-

 

The gin and music were apparently separate stops; or at least, Zechs sincerely hoped so.

The bar that Trowa took them to was a pleasant, ten-minute walk from their hotel. Pleasant, because of the breeze and the spectacular sunset, and because of the sight of Trowa’s ass in his tight jeans. That is, until Trowa realized that Zechs was walking two steps behind him and to the side for a  _ reason, _ and insisted Zechs walk ahead so he could do some ogling of his own.

The Orchid Bar was, without a doubt, the smallest bar Zechs had ever been to. There were a total of eight seats, sleek silver bar stools that looked either  _ very _ modern or  _ very _ retro. Retro, Zechs had to decide as he listened to the soft music playing - early Sinatra. Which, he didn’t have anything  _ against _ , but he didn’t think recordings of 60s standards merited a lot of consideration in a travel guide.

Three of the seats were already occupied, but Trowa nodded at the bartender and they were gestured towards the bar.

“This is the gin portion of the evening,” Trowa assured him as they sat. “So, for the sake of my job, drink up.”

Zechs accepted a small menu from the bartender, who turned his attention and considerable charm on Trowa immediately.

“Glad you came early tonight - let me make last night up to you. First round is on the house.”

Zechs wondered what  _ that _ was all about, but he wasn’t about to ask, and Trowa, who offered the blue-eyed, long haired bartender a shrug and a smirk, didn’t seem inclined to explain.

“I’ll try the Moll,” Trowa said, leaning close to Zechs to read the menu.

Zechs saw the bartender frown slightly, eyes flicking from Trowa to Zechs and realizing his chances with Trowa weren’t good. 

“And for you?” he asked, forcing a smile as he focused on Zechs.

“The Fitzgerald.”

“Comin’ right up, gents.”

The bartender started to prepare the drinks, his movements as flashy as they were efficient, and Trowa’s attention was focused on him.

“You hang out long enough and there’s a bachelor party coming through in an hour,” the bartender commented as he produced a cloudy, fizzy mauve cocktail for Trowa.

Trowa lifted his eyebrows to acknowledge the words and gave Zechs a look over the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

“That’s good. What kind of gin is in this?”

The bartender grinned broadly at the compliment.

“Dry and sloe - Hendricks and Plymouth. The vermouth gives it that little extra, I think.”

Trowa nodded in agreement, and took another sip before setting his glass down and turning on his bar stool so that he was facing Zechs.

He put one elbow on the bar and propped his chin in his hand.

“How about it? Want to hang out and try to pick off cute guys from a bachelor party?”

The bartender was watching Zechs closely even as he made his drink.

“If I’m going to have my  _ pick _ , I think I’ve already done that. Plus, you mentioned something about music, and I sincerely hope, for your sake as much as mine, that  _ this _ wasn’t what you had in mind.”

His response was clearly the right one. Trowa gave him a slow, sensual smirk that made Zechs very,  _ very _ grateful he had turned down Alex.

The bartender delivered Zechs’s drink a moment later, a cloudy amber concoction that was surprisingly complex for the few ingredients it contained.

“Lavender sugar syrup,” the bartender confided with a wink. “So it’s not a  _ real _ Fitzgerald, but it’s close enough.”

It looked like the bartender was going to say more, but one of the other patrons caught his attention.

“I’ll check in on you guys later,” he said, before moving away.

“What do you have against Sinatra?” Trowa asked him.

Because, even though the  _ first _ Sinatra song had ended, another one was currently playing. Zechs wondered if there would be Sinatra tracks playing the entire evening.

“Nothing,” Zechs shrugged. He saw Trowa’s eyes flash mischievously. “ _ Don’t _ say anything about seeing him live in concert or try to make another crack about my age,” he warned.

Trowa’s lips twitched upwards before he forced them into a neutral line.

“It was too easy, anyway,” he said, before taking another sip of his drink.

His foot tangled with Zechs’s, a none-too-subtle caress that lifted the hem of Zechs’s pants.

“When you aren’t  _ escorting _ travel guide writers around Key West, what do you do?”

“We never did establish how much I was going to charge you for my services,” Zechs mused.

“I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Trowa assured him with a serious expression.

“Hm. That depends on your negotiating skills.”

“Afraid I’ll get the better end of things?”

“I doubt anyone could argue the quality of your end of things,” Zechs said, “but I  _ am _ a lawyer.”

Trowa’s eyes lit up, and Zechs was sure the man was thinking up new ways to razz him.

“What kind of law?” Trowa asked, the question so deceptively neutral that Zechs cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

“Employment law.”

“So if I get fired, you’re the guy I need?”

“That depends on  _ why _ you get fired. If it’s because of your mediocre taste in music, I’m not sure I can help you.”

“It’s killing you to not know where I’m taking you next, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s  _ killing _ me, but I think the anticipation could be better placed.”

“One more drink - for work, and so Duo doesn’t actually  _ lose _ money off of trying to flirt with me.”

 

-o-

 

The one more drink turned into two - the bachelor party came by the bar early and  _ insisted _ that Trowa and Zechs join them for shots and for another round of drinks - and Zechs, who had eaten very little all day, was feeling pleasantly buzzed when they finally left the Orchid Bar.

Trowa was clearly feeling it too, his smirk closer to a grin now, and his eyes warm with alcohol and, Zechs felt it was safe to assume, arousal.

It was only one block from that bar to their next stop, but the walk took considerably longer.

They were barely twenty feet down the street, cutting through an alley instead of jostling through the heavy foot traffic on the main road, when Trowa grabbed Zechs’s shirt and pulled him close, backing himself against the trunk of one of those red-brown trees.

“What are these called, anyway?” Zechs asked, and he saw Trowa’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Tourist trees,” he said.

Zechs frowned and reached over Trowa’s shoulder to tug at some of the peeling bark.

“Tourist trees?”

“They peel easily, and underneath they’re red. Just like tourists.”

Zechs wondered if they really were called tourist trees, or if Trowa was making it up.

“Interesting.”

Trowa’s hand was still fisted in the front of his shirt.

“Was there something you wanted?”

It was dark, the street poorly-lit and no moon to speak of, but Zechs could tell the other man was glaring at him.

“Some _ one _ ,” Trowa corrected with a growl.

“Hm. Do you want me to go find him?”

“You might need to.” Trowa started to push away from the tree, but Zechs used his weight and size to keep Trowa in place.

He leaned down, glad Trowa was as tall as he was, and brushed his lips over Trowa’s, barely touching him.

“Surely you’re experienced enough to ask for what you want. Or is it that you haven’t earned it yet?”

He felt Trowa’s breath hitch, felt the other man press closer.

“Now, be a good boy, and ask nicely.”

“Kiss me.” Trowa’s voice was rough, needy, and the command fueled Zechs’s desire, kicking his simmering arousal into a  _ need _ to have the other man.

“ _ Ask _ .”

Trowa looked on the verge of balking.

“Please,” he finally said. “Kiss me?” 

Zechs pressed his lips against Trowa’s again, no longer teasing, but giving himself free reign to plunder the other man’s parted lips. Trowa moaned, low and guttural and visceral. His mouth was smoldering, his tongue demanding as it curled around Zechs’s, coaxing,  _ begging _ for more.

Zechs happily gave him what he wanted, slanting his mouth against Trowa’s and swallowing his sounds of pleasure, thrusting his tongue into Trowa’s mouth in a demonstration of what he wanted to do to the other man’s body, deep and forceful and intent on possession.

When they finally parted, both men were panting, and Trowa’s lips were glossy in the dim light, his eyes luminous and his breathing ragged.

“Satisfied?” Zechs asked.

Trowa nodded, looking a little dazed, and Zechs had to smirk.

The younger man seemed so self-possessed - it was a little impressive to see him looking so wrecked and left speechless after one very thorough kiss.

Zechs pried Trowa’s hand away from his shirt, threading their fingers together as he lowered their hands to his side.

“Did you want to keep working, or was there somewhere you’d rather have me escort you?”

Trowa chuckled, and seemed to pull himself back together.

“Hold onto your anticipation for a little longer; we only need to be here for a few sets. And then you can escort me back to your room.”

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

“And then you’ll send me on my way?”

“No, then I’ll invite you in and you’ll give me what all good boys want.”

“And that is?”

“Your dick up my ass.”

The words, coupled with the look in Trowa’s eyes, had Zechs pulling him close for another kiss.

Eventually, they made it to the second bar, an establishment only marginally larger than the first.

The Little Room was a jazz club, and, despite the name, was at least two rooms. The main bar area featured a handful of tall cafe tables, as well as a bar that accommodated far more than eight guests, and there was a stage at the far end of the room. Off to one side, however, was a smaller room that was equipped with plush, antique chairs and couches. The room had a perfect view of the stage, but was just slightly removed from the noise and press of bodies.

Zechs was surprised a jazz club was so popular, and even more surprised to see how young most of the audience was.

“Jazz?”

“Millennials like jazz,” Trowa said with a shrug and a smirk.

Zechs wasn’t about to argue the point. Instead, he followed Trowa to the bar.

“More gin?” he asked.

“No - have whatever you want, but I’d prefer you order a cocktail.”

Trowa had paid for their tab at the Orchid, insisting it was for work, but Zechs stopped Trowa from reaching for his wallet this time.

Which meant he had his hand on Trowa’s ass. The other man made absolutely no move to dislodge him.

“My treat,” Zechs explained.

“Feels like it’s mine,” Trowa said, but he didn’t argue.

The cocktail menu might as well have been in another language. Zechs didn’t recognize  _ any _ of the drinks, and he certainly didn’t recognize a  _ single _ ingredient listed in any of them. He couldn’t even tell if there was alcohol in them.

Trowa leaned close, his lips brushing against Zechs’s ear.

“I’m thinking this is one of those places that tries just a  _ lot _ too hard to be unique.”

Zechs hummed in agreement, relieved that Trowa felt the same.

“I’ll have a Hemingway’s Death by Champagne,” Zechs told the bartender when she wandered their way. He wasn’t particularly interested in the drink, but it had  _ champagne _ in it, and that was something he at least had had before.

“And a House Spritz,” Trowa said, choosing the other cocktail that had champagne.

“Coward,” Zechs told him.

“I didn’t hear  _ you _ ordering a drink with hibiscus wine or fig bitters.”

“Mine  _ does _ have absinthe bitters,” Zechs pointed out.

“Yes, you’re very brave.”

Zechs paid for their drinks, and followed Trowa over to the side room.

One of the couches was occupied, as were two of the armchairs, but the other couch was open.

Zechs sat down first, balancing the drinks, and was amused and pleased when Trowa settled against him, leaving almost the entire couch unoccupied.

Trowa took his drink, and Zechs draped his arm over the back of the couch, letting his fingers tease the nape of Trowa’s neck.

After their heated exchange on the walk over, and with the promise of much, much more, Zechs had expected to suffer through half an hour of music while counting down the minutes until he could get Trowa naked. Instead, he found himself enjoying just sitting there, Trowa’s firm, lithe body pressed against him, sipping on his drink and listening to the music.

“My dad was in a jazz trio,” Trowa said, tilting his head up and speaking directly into Zechs’s ear.

“Was he good?” Zechs had never really taken the time to listen to jazz, and certainly didn’t know enough to know if the quartet playing at the bar were good or not. He was enjoying it, though, and flattered himself to think he wouldn’t appreciate the music if it was  _ bad _ .

“No idea. I never heard him play. He died when I was five.”

That was a surprisingly personal admission, and Zechs had no idea how he should react.

“We should probably go,” Trowa said, taking a moment to toss back the last of his drink, “or I’m going to be too depressed to want to have sex.”

Zechs hesitated.

“We don’t  _ have _ to have sex,” he felt the need to point out.

“You mean I could just be depressed instead?” Trowa shook his head. “No, I’ll take the sex, please.”

“Well, since you said  _ please _ .”

Zechs finished off his own drink before standing and offering Trowa a hand up.

The walk back to their hotel was sedate, with none of the detours their previous trip had taken, and Zechs wasn’t entirely sure Trowa wasn’t  _ already _ too depressed to have sex.

The pool was empty, as was their courtyard.

Trowa approached his door but Zechs stayed back, giving him space.

The shorter man sighed and leaned against the door, looking at Zechs.

“Guess I’m  _ not _ much of a good boy after all.”

Zechs had to chuckle. He closed the space between them and pushed a strand of Trowa’s hair out of his eyes, smoothing it over his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. Trowa turned his head into Zechs’s touch, chasing after it.

“Ask me to kiss you goodnight,” Zechs suggested.

Trowa smiled.

“Kiss me goodnight.”

Zechs rolled his eyes.

“We need to work on the concept of  _ asking _ versus  _ demanding _ .”

“Promise to teach me the difference?”

“I’m trying,” Zechs grumbled.

He ran his hand over Trowa’s cheek and jaw.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Trowa asked him. 

“No definite plans. Do you need more escorting?”

Trowa nodded.

“I’m going on the bike tour - it leaves at nine forty-five.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not fucking you tonight, after all,” Zechs said.

Trowa snorted in amusement.

“Think you’ll be up for the exercise?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. I like you.”

Despite regretting that this evening wasn’t going to continue, Zechs found himself strangely content that it was ending the way it was. Trowa wasn’t, as it turned out, just a sexy, witty man looking for a good time.

“Good.”

Trowa leaned closer.

“Please, kiss me goodnight.”

And Zechs obliged.

 

 

-o-

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

A/n: For Sunday Sinning on Tumblr… but then it got long…

A/N2: Always thanks to Ro for beta reading

  
  
  


The bike tour was surprisingly enjoyable. The guide stopped every few minutes, dismounting her bike and gesturing for everyone to do the same, and pointed out a building to describe who or what had made it famous. The ride itself was pleasant - the terrain completely flat and the sun half-hidden by clouds. And while Zechs had appreciated the tour - learning more about the island, its history and its more famous inhabitants - the main appeal for him had undoubtedly been Trowa.

When the younger man had knocked on his door that morning with coffee in hand and fedora and glasses obscuring most of his face except for his smirk, Zechs had found himself unaccountably eager. 

Not just for the chance to admire Trowa’s ass while he biked just ahead of Zechs, but to spend time with him. Trowa was intelligent, clever, and his humor a blend of sarcasm and teasing that appealed to Zechs.

And he had clearly loved every minute of the tour - asking questions of the guide, looking over his shoulder to smirk at Zechs or point things out. His enthusiasm was refreshing, after the cynics Zechs spent most of his life around.

His vacation was rapidly becoming about more than just a change in scenery.

At the end of the tour, they returned their bikes and sat down to eat a slice of key lime pie - included in the tour fees and, the guide assured them as she handed out the plates, required for a real Key West experience.

Zechs didn’t know how much he cared or agreed with that statement.

He  _ did _ know that watching Trowa eat his slice of pie was something that surely belonged in a pornographic film. The man didn’t care at  _ all _ that they were in public. He tilted his head back for each bite, inserting the fork head fully into his mouth and slowly sliding it out from between his lips and then licking them clean.

They were halfway through the pie slices, with Zechs unsure he would even be able to  _ finish _ his without hauling Trowa off somewhere and replacing that fork with something much larger and rather uncomfortably hard, when Trowa stretched out his legs. He tangled them with Zechs’s under the table and leaned back in his chair.

“Have any plans for the rest of the day?” he asked.

Zechs gave him a look, but Trowa just continued to smirk.

“Nothing concrete,” Zechs said. He  _ had _ used all of his guide books to make a tentative itinerary for himself before arriving yesterday. But after meeting Trowa, Zechs was willing to bet that whatever plans he had made already wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable as anything Trowa wanted to do.

“You?” he asked, after watching Trowa perform fellatio on another forkful of pie.

“Work,” Trowa shrugged. “I want to go to a few of the museums this afternoon. Care to escort me?”

As if Zechs would even  _ want _ to say no after Trowa’s performance.

“I would,” Zechs told him. “I’d like to shower first.” He hadn’t bothered with one that morning, anticipating a more athletic jaunt than the sedate bike tour, and the need for a shower after the exercise.

“Hm.” Trowa finished off his pie, giving his fork one last sensual swipe. “You know, with the hotel being so keen on sustainability, we should probably try to conserve the water.”

Zechs felt his lips twitch.

“What did you have in mind?”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder and then rose from the table, the slight bulge in the front of his shorts unmistakable.

“We could always share a shower - for the sake of the environment.”

Zechs leaned back in his chair and looked over Trowa’s body, admiring the tight fit of his shirt and the shorts, which had been tight even before having to cover the additional length of Trowa’s erection.

“Well, if it’s for the environment.”

The walk back to the hotel gave Zechs just enough time to fantasize about all of the ways he wanted to put Trowa’s mouth to use. After letting the younger man tease him for nearly half an hour with that damn pie, Zechs felt he was entitled to make Trowa give  _ him _ the same kind of attention.

Trowa’s room was closer, and while Zechs’s room wasn’t more than a few feet beyond, they both made the decision that expediency was important.

Trowa pushed Zechs up against the door and leaned up to kiss him. There was no pretense, no teasing - Trowa’s lips were demanding, meeting Zechs’s mouth in an open, searing press.

He wrapped his arms around the other man. Zechs smoothed his hands over Trowa’s back, down his hips, and squeezed his firm ass before hauling him closer.

Trowa made a sound into Zechs’s mouth, needy and wanton, and Zechs wanted nothing more than to hear it again, to hear  _ more _ , to have Trowa naked and kneeling and begging for-

Trowa managed to open the door behind him, and Zechs momentarily lost his footing.

They stumbled into the room and Zechs regained his balance in time to push Trowa against the door, reversing their positions and using the other man’s body to close the door.

He dimly heard the sound of Trowa dropping something - probably the key and his wallet - before Trowa’s hands were around his neck and the man was clinging to him.

Zechs pulled Trowa’s sunglasses away from his face, carelessly tossing them to the floor with his own. 

Exposed, Trowa’s face was utterly mesmerizing. The desire in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks and his swollen lips gave Zechs such visceral delight that he had to kiss him again, had to devour him.

“Fuck me,” Trowa commanded as he broke away from the kiss and moaned into Zechs’s neck. “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

“Fuck you?” Zechs chuckled and pulled Trowa’s arms away from his neck. He turned the man around, pressing his front against the door, and he squeezed Trowa’s ass again with his hands. “Oh no. I’m not giving you what you want that easily.”

Counter to his words, though, Zechs ground up against Trowa’s ass, pressing his clothed erection against the other man and thrusting his hips forward a few times.

Trowa’s hands fisted against the door, and he looked over his shoulder at Zechs.

“Going to punish me?” he asked, breathless and unabashedly eager.

Zechs laughed again.

“Punish you?” Zechs brought the flat of his hand down on Trowa’s ass in a light, experimental spank. 

Trowa pushed back against him.

“I would,” Zechs slapped him again, a little harder, and Trowa moaned, “but you would enjoy it far, far too much. And besides, it’s not your ass that’s the problem, Trowa.”

He moved his hand upwards, tracing over Trowa’s side and smirking when the other man smirked and leaned back against him. He nipped at Trowa’s ear and neck, making the other man squirm. He pinched Trowa’s right nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Trowa hissed.

“It’s your  _ mouth _ that makes you such a brat,” Zechs said as his hand finally reached its destination. He traced over Trowa’s lips, pulling his hand away when he felt the darting tip of Trowa’s tongue reach out. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Trowa panted. His own hands were being  _ very _ industrious, reaching between their bodies to unfasten Zechs’s shorts and push them down. Trowa squeezed his cock through the material of his briefs, his touch firm and confident despite the awkward position, and Zechs groaned.

“You are a very determined brat, aren’t you?” Zechs growled.

Trowa chuckled, and then gasped when Zechs used his other hand to squeeze Trowa’s own cock.

“It’s the only way to get what I want,” Trowa panted.

Trowa tugged Zechs’s briefs down, freeing his cock, and Zechs pushed Trowa’s hands away before thrusting against Trowa’s ass again, the friction of Trowa’s clothes against his bare, heated flesh bliss.

“And is that what you want? My cock?”

“Yes, fuck yes.” Trowa pushed back against him, encouraging Zechs to hump against him. 

Zechs stepped away from Trowa, ignoring the other man’s impatient grumble.

He toed off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head while Trowa watched him.

After pulling off his socks, Zechs straightened up and looked down at himself, at the precum smeared on the tip of his hard cock and the flush of arousal that colored the shaft.

He curved one hand around his length, easing his foreskin back, and looked up in time to see Trowa licking his lips.

“Strip,” Zechs ordered. 

Trowa turned around to face him. He removed his fedora and tossed it towards the dresser. His bangs fell down across his forehead, hiding one of his eyes.

Zechs stroked himself while he watched. Trowa took his time, some of his equilibrium clearly restored, as he grabbed the hem of his shirt and slowly pulled it over his head.

He had tattoos, the largest over his heart. It took Zechs a moment to make sense of the abstract lines and the blue watercolor design over it, but then he recognized it as a lion in full roar. Trowa also had tattoos of two arrows, both aimed in different directions, running down his right side. The tattoo that drew drew Zechs’s attention the most, however, was a black and white bird hovering above and to the right of Trowa’s navel. The bird’s wings were spread in flight, but instead of feathers, the wings were made of music notes that seemed to be floating away.

He was distracted by Trowa’s hands reaching down to the waist of his shorts and slowly unfastening them.

Zechs wasn’t the least surprised to see that Trowa wasn’t wearing underwear.

The other man’s cock was long, slim and lifted in a slight, graceful curve. Zechs felt his mouth water at the sight. He wondered what Trowa would taste like, wondered if he would cry out as he came.

Trowa had to balance on one foot as he pulled off his socks and shoes, but once he was back on two feet, he arched an eyebrow at Zechs.

“Well,  _ now _ do I get fucked?”

Zechs chuckled, and let go of his own cock to reach out and pull Trowa close, running his hands over Trowa’s skin and smirking when the other man shuddered and leaned into him.

“We really need to work on how you  _ ask _ for things, Trowa.”

The man shivered at his own name. He tilted his head up and ran his tongue over Zechs’s throat, down to his clavicle and lower, until he swirled around Zechs’s right pectoral and then sucked on the hardened nipple there.

“Want me to say please?” Trowa looked up at him, mischief in his green eyes, before biting down.

Zechs hissed from the pain and pleasure, and he threaded his fingers through Trowa’s hair, cradling his skull.

He felt Trowa lave at the mark, his hot tongue easing the pain, and then Trowa’s lips were pressed against the same spot, applying pressure as he sucked on the flesh.

Zechs arched an eyebrow. Trowa was still looking directly at him, and with Zechs’s grip on his head, it would be easy enough to pull him away.

“Brat,” Zechs muttered as he tightened his grip on Trowa’s hair.

He hadn’t been marked by a lover in… years. And while Zechs himself had a certain fondness for marking  _ his _ lovers, a fondness that he could admit came from his possessiveness, Zechs’s last partner, a lawyer in a rival firm that he had dated for almost two years, had scoffed and pushed Zechs away when he had suggested leaving a mark on him the night before he left on a two-week business trip.

When Trowa pulled back, he pressed a lingering  kiss to his handiwork and straightened up.

Zechs looked down to see the angry red mark. It would be tender, and it would definitely be visible.

“Staking your claim?” Zechs asked. Some of the mischief left Trowa’s eyes, replaced with uncertainty.

Zechs pulled Trowa close again, urging him up onto his toes, and kissed him, slanting his mouth over Trowa’s and trying to convey his pleasure, his undiminished need for the other man.

Trowa kissed him back, uncertainty quickly fading, and soon they were both breathless, hard cocks leaving wet trails on each other’s bodies, and Zechs wanted,  _ needed, _ more.

“Get on the bed.”

“What happened to our shower?” Trowa asked, but he walked backwards to the bed without hesitation, sitting down and then scooting backwards until he was against the headboard. He spread his legs wide, bending his knees and showing off his body for Zechs.

“We’ll get there,” Zechs promised him.

He followed Trowa onto the bed, crawling across it and kissing Trowa’s lips again, sucking on his lower lip and biting into it before releasing him. 

“But first, I think it’s only fair I leave a mark of my own.”

He heard Trowa’s breath catch, and Zechs held his gaze as he trailed his right hand over Trowa’s body.

“Not here.” He traced over the lion’s mane before moving down to Trowa’s quivering belly. He leaned down and licked the bird tattoo, sucking the skin into his mouth momentarily before releasing it.

“Or there. I doubt I could improve on it.”

Trowa chuckled, the sound as breathless as it was amused, and Zechs smirked.

He ran his hand over Trowa’s groin, tugging on the auburn curls until Trowa arched up into his touch. He ignored the other man’s cock, though, and instead spread his fingers over Trowa’s left thigh, pushing his leg open wider and tracing over the sensitive skin.

“Hm. Perhaps here?” He grazed his thumb over the femoral artery just below Trowa’s hip.

“Yes,” Trowa breathed.

Zechs arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yes,  _ what _ ?”

“Yes,  _ please _ .”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Trowa chuckled.

“It had fucking better be.”

Zechs was all too happy to oblige him.

He lowered his head and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the area. He could feel Trowa tense beneath him in anticipation. He teased Trowa’s skin with his tongue and then sucked the wet, tender flesh into his mouth.

He could feel Trowa’s cock against the back of his head.

Trowa whimpered, and Zechs saw him clutching the sheets with his hands.

Zechs caressed the man’s skin, running one hand from Trowa’s ankle to up his calf and over his thigh even as Trowa trembled under him.

As he finished, Zechs bit down, and Trowa whimpered.

“Now that we’re even,” Zechs said as propped himself up to admire his handiwork, the skin already mottled with red and violet, “was there something else you wanted?”

“ _ Please _ fuck me.”

Zechs chuckled.

“See, you’re learning.”

Trowa glared at him, but Zechs just pulled him up into a kiss, fitting Trowa onto his lap and groaning in satisfaction as his cock settled between the firm globes of Trowa’s ass.

“You’re determined to teach me how to be a good boy, aren’t you?” Trowa rocked against him, the teasing movement of his body not nearly enough.

“Someone needs to.”

Trowa smirked.

“Sounds like a lot of work for someone on vacation.”

“I’ve been accused of being a workaholic before.”

Zechs eased Trowa back onto the bed, spreading him out and running his hands over Trowa’s skin. He took Trowa’s hard cock in one hand and gave it a firm stroke.

Trowa released a shuddery sigh and arched up into the touch.

“Tell me you have condoms and lube.”

Trowa’s eyes sparkled.

“Why? You didn’t have the chance to stop by Leather Master?”

“Not yet. You’ll have to take me by there later. I’m sure millennials need an in-depth review.”

Trowa chuckled.

“Then who am I to deny them?” He pointed towards the nightstand on the left side of the bed. “In that drawer.”

Zechs released him and shifted back to allow Trowa to move.

The other man rolled to the side of the bed and opened the drawer. Giving Zechs his first full view of Trowa’s back and the tattoos inked over his skin there.

It was interesting. Trowa clothed looked almost like a borderline fraternity boy. Trowa naked… was a delightful surprise.

Trowa presented Zechs with a wrapped condom and a bottle of lube.

“ _ Strawberry _ ?”

“Not my choice. It was a welcoming gift.”

Trowa  _ had _ said he’d fucked Alex. 

“Is that a problem?” Trowa asked cautiously.

“No, but we’re definitely going to Leather Master later.  _ Strawberry _ .”

Trowa snorted a laugh and took the bottle back.

“It doesn’t taste bad,” he said, and squirted some onto his hand. He stroked his cock, coating it, and looked up at Zechs, the expression on his face somewhere between expectant and uncertain again.

Zechs lowered his head and lapped at Trowa’s cock. It had the synthetic, chemical taste of a fruit syrup, but it wasn’t overpowering.

“It’s not terrible,” Zechs confirmed, before taking Trowa’s cock back into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around the shaft, and easing it fully into his mouth.

Trowa groaned.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he panted, and his hands gripped Zechs’s hair as Zechs started to suck on him, guiding Trowa’s cock in and out of his mouth in steady, languid movements. He kept his pace slow, teasing Trowa, torturing the both of them when all either of them wanted was for Zechs to bury his cock in Trowa’s ass. Still, Zechs  _ had _ told Trowa he wasn’t going to give him what he wanted too easily. And Zechs  _ did _ want to taste Trowa’s cum.

Zechs fondled Trowa’s sac, squeezing gently and rolling the flesh between his fingers until Trowa whimpered and spread his legs wide. Zechs smoothed his fingers over Trowa’s perineum, pressing down, and Trowa’s hips jerked up.

“Fuck,” Trowa moaned again, and his body quivered as Zechs swallowed his cock to the root. He ran his teeth along the underside as he pulled back and then he took it deeply again, moving faster and sucking Trowa deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, Zechs, please. Please, I’m-”

Zechs could feel Trowa’s thighs tense under him, and he held him in place when Trowa started to move away.

Trowa’s fingers tightened in his hair painfully, digging into his scalp.

“Zechs!”

It was immensely gratifying to hear Trowa call out his name even as the back of Zechs’s throat was coated with cum, the thick, salty cream coming in wave after wave, until at last Trowa relaxed his death grip on Zechs and swore again.

“Holy shit. That was- Fuck, Zechs.”

He released Trowa’s spent cock and leaned back to see Trowa’s head buried in the pillows, his hands over his face and his chest heaving.

“My pleasure.”

Trowa snorted and propped himself up. They shared a smirk at the reference to the previous night.

“I- There aren’t that many guys who give head like that,” Trowa said.

“I trust I’ll earn a decent rating from you, then.” Zechs didn’t care that Trowa had likely been with at least two other men in Key West, but he didn’t really need to be compared to either of them. Any of them, for that matter.

“I just meant- I’m usually the one giving head.”

_ Now _ Zechs understood. As a younger man, first finding his way in the gay community, he had been with older men, men who liked their partners young, hot and submissive. And while Zechs had discovered he preferred to top, he definitely didn’t take any less pleasure  _ now _ than he had  _ then _ at sucking cock.

“Well, I had to reward you for finally saying please.”

Trowa laughed.

“Still planning on punishing me?”

Zechs reached out and took Trowa’s right hand. He guided it to his still-hard cock.

“What do you think?”

Trowa’s breath caught, and he squeezed Zechs’s cock eagerly.

Zechs reached for the lube and spread some of it on his fingers.

Trowa rose onto his knees, and Zechs obligingly lay down on his back so that Trowa could straddle him.

He found Trowa’s anus and circled it.

Trowa’s grip on Zechs’s cock tightened as Zechs slowly inserted one finger into the tight, hot sheath of Trowa’s body.

Zechs curved his finger forward, searching until he found Trowa’s prostate.

Trowa squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fuck. Fuck, Zechs.”

“Your mouth,” Zechs growled. 

“What about it?” Trowa panted.

“It needs to be washed out.”

“You’re the one who took the detour from the shower,” Trowa reminded him. “Maybe later you can wash it out for me. Think your cum will do the job?”

“I think we’ll have to try.”

Trowa smirked down at him, and then groaned when Zechs eased in a second finger. Trowa rocked back against him, his body drawing Zechs’s fingers deeper, and Zechs could see that Trowa’s cock was already getting hard again.

_ Oh, to be young again _ . 

He remembered being in college, remembered his freshman roommate who insisted that jacking each other off wasn’t gay, insisted that blowjobs weren’t  _ that _ gay, insisted that if they took turns fucking each other then it was okay. One orgasm had led to another had led to another, until they fell asleep on stained sheets night after night, until Zechs finally started dating and his roommate had been left to fend for himself.

Zechs reached for the condom he had abandoned earlier.

Trowa took it from him, opening it and moving away from Zechs’s fingers so he could roll the condom down Zechs’s neglected cock. Trowa spread more of the strawberry lube over Zechs’s cock, coating it thoroughly before he positioned it at his anus.

Trowa guided Zechs’s cock inside him, slowly impaling himself until he was fully seated, and Zechs could feel Trowa’s body clench around him.

“You feel very,  _ very _ good.”

Trowa smirked.

“So do you.”

Trowa rose up onto his knees and then sat back down, the movement making Zechs groan and reach out to hold Trowa’s hips. He let the other man set his own pace, let Trowa rise and fall above him, and tried his best to keep still.

“What happened to punishing me?” Trowa asked.

Zechs narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on Trowa’s hips. He pulled the man up and then pushed him back down, thrusting upwards at the same time, and Trowa threw his head back.

“Fuck, yes. Please, Zechs.”

“I do like hearing you say please,” Zechs admitted as he repeated the action.

“Please, please, please,” Trowa moaned as Zechs bounced him up and down, holding Trowa upright while he plunged his cock deep into Trowa’s body over and over again, until they were both panting and groaning and Trowa’s moans had lost any coherency.

“ _ This _ ,” Zechs growled as he gave a sharp thrust, “is how brats get fucked, Trowa.”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Trowa agreed, one of his hands worked frantically over his own cock and the other alternating between pinching his own nipples and digging into Zechs’s shoulder.

“Are you going to come for me, Trowa?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Zechs. I-”

“Come for me,” Zechs crooned even as he pistoned his hips forcefully, feeling his own climax approach.

“Ughgn!” Trowa’s body drew Zechs even deeper, his muscles clenching as he came, and Zechs pounded into him again and again, and-

He climax hit him like a bus, ecstasy pulsing through his body and momentarily blinding him. He clung to Trowa’s body as he rode wave after wave of pleasure, realizing belatedly he was likely going to leave bruises on the other man’s hips.

Zechs released his grip on Trowa and the other man fell down onto his chest, breathing just as heavily as Zechs. Laying together, they struggled to catch their breaths.

“I’m so glad we didn’t fuck last night,” Trowa said.

“What?”

“I can’t imagine trying to ride a bike all morning after  _ that _ .”

Zechs chuckled and wrapped one arm around Trowa. He pressed a kiss to Trowa’s temple.

“Thank you,” he said.

Trowa turned his head and looked at him.

“For what? Being a brat?”

“That, and for a  _ very _ good vacation.”

Trowa smirked and shifted.

Zechs could feel his cock ease from Trowa’s body, and he felt Trowa’s cum smear between them.

“About that shower…”

“Hm. Yeah. Sure.  _ Now _ you want to shower.”

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

“You don’t?”

“No.” Trowa reached down and pulled off the condom. He rolled off the bed and crossed the room, dropping it into a trashcan before coming back to the bed and laying down on top of Zechs again. “I just want to lay here.”

“I thought you had work.”

Trowa grumbled and curled against Zechs, pillowing his head between Zechs’s right shoulder and his chest.

“I always have work. I thought  _ you _ were on vacation.”

Zechs smoothed one hand down Trowa’s back, repeating the motion when Trowa sighed in contentment.

“Just give me a few minutes and then we’ll shower. Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Hm. Depends on if we make it that far before you remember what a dirty mouth I have.”

Zechs ran his thumb over said mouth. 

Trowa nipped at him, and Zechs smirked before adjusting the pillows under his head. 

It would feel good to close his eyes for a few minutes, especially with Trowa wrapped around him and his body still feeling boneless and sated.

 

-o-

When Zechs woke up, he was cold and alone. 

He looked around the room, rolling over and finally seeing Trowa sitting at a desk across the room, typing away on a computer.

Zechs had no idea what time it was - the sun was still high and bright outside of the shuttered windows - and he hoped he hadn’t slept for long.

“What time is it?”

Trowa looked over his shoulder at him and smirked. He was still naked, Zechs realized when Trowa pushed away from the desk and stood up.

“Just after two.” Trowa stretched and crossed back to the bed. He sat down beside Zechs. “Still up for that shower?”

“That, and hopefully something to eat.”

“More pie?”

“Please tell me you don’t eat  _ every _ meal like that.”

Trowa’s eyes sparkled.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” He reached out and squeezed Zechs’s thigh. “Come on, we can see how comfortable the shower tiles are under my knees and then find some place that sells fried conch.”

The tiles, it turned out, weren’t at  _ all _ comfortable. Despite Trowa insisting he was fine, Zechs didn’t much care for looking down to see Trowa wincing while his cheeks bulged with Zechs’s cock. He pulled him to his feet and managed to convince Trowa that trading very soapy handjobs was more than enough to satisfy him.

He went back to his own room to dress, crossing the courtyard in just a towel while clutching his old clothes and hoping the occupant of the third room stayed indoors.

It was already three by the time they were both dressed and Zechs met Trowa by the pool.

Trowa’s face was once again hidden by his sunglasses and hat, but Zechs didn’t think he was imagining the warm curve to Trowa’s ever-present smirk.

“We might not make it to any museums today,” Trowa mused as they walked towards the pier together.

“I’ll survive the disappointment somehow.”

“Look, you don’t have to… It’s your vacation. You aren’t obligated to me or anything.”

Zechs looked over at Trowa and saw that his smirk had slid into a frown.

“I’m aware that it’s my vacation,” he said carefully. He wasn’t sure  _ what _ he had said that was wrong, but it was clear that Trowa was uneasy. Uncertain.

Zechs realized that this was a pattern, looking back over last night and the events of today. Trowa seemed to withdraw himself and his confidence whenever he feared he had given too much of himself away or thought he was about to be rejected.

Zechs reached out for Trowa, tucking his hand into Trowa’s back pocket and pulling him closer.

“I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, and I’d like to spend more time with you. But I don’t want to get in the way of your work, and I don’t want  _ you _ to feel obligated to spend time with me.”

Trowa’s body was tense and his lips still tight.

Zechs gave his ass a squeeze, and Trowa’s eyes widened. He looked up at Zechs.

“Do you want to spend time with me?”

“Yes,” Trowa hissed.

“Tell me when that changes. And I’ll do the same.”

Trowa still looked doubtful, but he didn’t try to argue the point.

While it wasn’t exactly comfortable to keep walking with his hand in Trowa’s back pocket, the other man made no move to pull away and Zechs enjoyed the novelty of it.

Trowa took them to the Conch Republic Seafood Company, giving Zechs an apologetic look as he finally stepped away when a woman with a double stroller almost ran them down.

The restaurant was full of other tourists, but Trowa managed to talk the waiter into sitting them outside, a good way away from the handful of families.

“I’m sorry,” Trowa sighed, after their waiter took their drink order.

“For what?”

Trowa shrugged one shoulder.

“For… being me.”

“I like you.”

Trowa gave him a look.

“I do,” Zechs insisted.

“There are easier ways to get laid than dealing with me.”

Zechs found it intriguing that someone who projected confidence as much as Trowa did really was so unsure of himself. 

“I like dealing with you. You-” He had to pause as a shouting child ran past their table, chasing after another, equally loud one. “You take me to all the best places,” he finished.

Trowa rolled his eyes.

“Look, I know I’m not-”

Zechs reached under the table and put his hand on Trowa’s thigh, over the mark he had made earlier in the day.

Trowa stilled.

“Do you want to spend time with me?” he repeated his earlier question.

“Yes,” Trowa sighed.

“Then spend time with me. I like you. I like dealing with you. I like brats,” he added with a smirk. “I can remind you just how much later. If you want me to. Or need me to. But for now, I need you to tell me what to order.”

He left his hand on Trowa’s thigh, and Trowa settled back into his chair and finally picked up his menu.

Trowa ordered for them, staring down the waiter when he glanced at Zechs’s hand under the glass tabletop and its proximity to Trowa’s groin.

“Leather Master is just a few minutes away,” Trowa said once they were alone again.

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

“You want to walk around all afternoon carrying a bag from there?”

Trowa smirked.

“I was planning on us going back to my room after getting a less offensive lube for you and spending the afternoon in bed.”

“Hm. Not a bad plan. What about later?”

Trowa’s lips quirked.

“Have you been to the Garden of Eden?”

Zechs had heard of the bar, but had never been. He shook his head.

“Have any interest in going?”

The bar was very famously clothing optional.

Zechs squeezed Trowa’s thigh.

“Is that why you marked me earlier?”

Trowa gave him a look.

“You need to work on looking innocent,” Zechs told him.

Trowa smirked.

“I don’t have much experience with it,” he confessed.

The waiter came back with their food - three different dishes featuring fried conch - and Zechs finally withdrew his hand from Trowa’s lap.

“We don’t have to go,” Trowa said. “I can go another night on my own. It’s not… it’s not actually my kind of thing, but my boss thinks it will appeal to the readers.”

Zechs could understand that. He shrugged.

“I don’t mind going. What’s the music like?”

Trowa rolled his eyes.

“It’s not Sinatra.”

The meal was pleasant, if unexceptional. 

Zechs didn’t think much of the conch outside of it being a vehicle for batter, but after Trowa eased into eating and drinking, he grew less tense and fell into his pattern of teasing Zechs.

After eating, they walked the half-mile to Leather Master. Zechs had been pretty sure of what to expect, based on the name, and reality did not disappoint.

Trowa’s slightly wide-eyed gaze, however, had Zechs smirking and putting his hand back into the other man’s back pocket.

“See anything you want to review?”

Trowa gave him a look that was half-exasperated and half-hopeful.

Zechs continued to smirk as he tugged Trowa down the aisle towards the lube, an aisle that had an assortment of toys that ranged in size from petite to monstrous. Zech stopped in front of a black, glittering dildo that he judged to be about the same size as his own cock when fully erect.

“You know, if you want to get a  _ toy _ we should get a water based lubricant,” he mused.

Trowa was blushing as he shook his head.

“We can just get a silicone lubricant.”

Zechs didn’t want to push him past his comfort level, especially when he felt confident he could think of plenty of ways to make Trowa blush again without having to use a dildo.

They continued down the aisle, and Trowa picked up a bottle of Swiss Navy silicone lubricant. He held it up for Zechs’s inspection.

“Will this meet your high standards?”

“I don’t think a dislike for strawberry flavored lube counts as high standards,” Zechs muttered, but he removed his hand from Trowa’s ass and took the bottle from him.

Their walk to the register took them down another aisle, one that showed off the handmade leather goods that the store seemed most proud of.

Zechs saw Trowa’s eyes linger on a pair of cuffs. They were mostly black, the leather shining with oil, but strips of purple leather had been woven around the circumference of the cuffs, and the metal buckles and eyes were made of dark, nearly black steel that gleamed.

“It seems a shame to shop at a place called Leather Master and  _ not _ get something made from leather,” Zechs murmured.

Trowa looked at Zechs over his shoulder.

“Would they be for me or for you?”

The question made Zechs chuckle. He hadn’t considered that Trowa would even be interested in restraining  _ him _ .

“I suppose that depends on how much of a brat you intend to be,” Zechs said, tilting his head down to say the words directly into Trowa’s ear. 

Trowa shivered.

“If you’re going to punish me the same way you did earlier, I can’t promise to behave any better.”

Zechs picked up the pair of cuffs and ran his fingers over the smooth leather. The headboards in their hotel rooms were slatted, Mission style, and he was fairly confident that, with a bit of chain to connect the cuffs, he could loop them through the slats on the headboard.

He saw Trowa watching him closely and arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do you want them?”

The expression on Trowa’s face clearly said yes, but Zechs waited.

“Yes.  _ Please _ ,” he added, when Zechs opened his mouth.

Zechs smirked and picked up a length of chain in the same dark finish. It would connect the cuffs, and definitely be long enough to thread through the headboard.

Zechs insisted on paying for the cuffs, chain and lube, and on carrying the very nondescript and yet simultaneously conspicuous black plastic bag back to the hotel.

As they walked through the pool area and into the crowd of guests, Zechs realized it was the hotel’s cocktail hour.

He looked over at Trowa, who shrugged.

“I never pass up free liquor,” he said.

They walked over to the bar, manned once again by Alex.

The hotel clerk looked at them, then at the black bag in Zechs’s hand.

“Looks like you two are planning on having a good night,” he said, sounding wistful.

“It’s Key West,” Trowa said. “I thought the plan was  _ always _ to have a good night.”

“Fair. What can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have a Tom Collins,” Zechs said. The French 75 had been nice the previous evening, but if Alex was going to balk over a gin and tonic, at least a Tom Collins was the next closest thing.

“The same.”

Alex started to mix the drinks.

“Got any plans for tomorrow?” Alex directed the question at Trowa.

The other man shrugged one shoulder.

“It’s my day off,” Alex said. “I could take you around, show you some of the local places to swim.”

Trowa turned his head in Zechs’s direction, his expression impossible to read behind his glasses.

“I promised Zechs I would spend the day with him,” Trowa said.

Alex rolled his eyes.

“You can’t come down to paradise and just spend all your time in bed. You gotta live a little, too.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” Zechs assured Alex, and took the two drinks from him.

Trowa left a few singles as a tip, and they made their way through the pool area and to the courtyard outside of their rooms.

They sat down in two adirondack chairs that were side-by-side, and Zechs handed Trowa one of the drinks.

“You don’t have to spend tomorrow with me,” Trowa said.

“If I want to, what would I be escorting you to this time?”

“Snorkeling or kayaking in the afternoon. Maybe another attempt at the museums in the morning.” Trowa ran his fingers over the condensation on his glass.

“I did want to go kayaking,” Zechs admitted. “Assuming we make it out of bed.”

Trowa smirked and gestured towards the bag.

“There’s a chance one of us might not.”

 

-o-

 

TBC, because I cannot seem to stay away from these two

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For her birthday, Ro requested more of Cypress.
> 
> Chapter 3 (and the yet to be posted Chapter 4) pick up 4 months after Key West.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

A/N: For Ro. Wishing you a very happy birthday and thanking you for all of the years of friendship and support. And beta reading. And ridiculous email chains. And everything.

 

A/N2: I couldn’t very well have you edit your own birthday fic. So many, many thanks to Kangofu-CB for beta reading this for me.

 

A/N3: A continuation of  _ Cypress _ , as requested. This picks up a few months after the vacation in Key West. I would strongly recommend reading that fic first. 

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex. 

 

Pairings: 6x3

 

_ Cypress _

 

Chapter Three

  
  


“Welcome to  _ Winning Life _ ’s publishing office, how can I help you?”

 

The receptionist was young, with bright orange hair wrapped around her head in an elaborate braid, and wore what looked almost exactly like the uniform Zechs had been forced to wear in primary school.

 

After a five hour flight and the tension-headache inducing struggle of navigating the airport taxi queue, Zechs felt weary, achy, and in desperate need of a shower.

 

“I’m here to see Trowa Barton.”

 

“Oh. Oh, hm…” she clicked away at her computer. “I don’t have any appointments down for Mr. Barton this afternoon. Are you a walk-in or did he schedule an interview for -”

 

“He’s expecting me,” Zechs assured the woman. “I’m Zechs Merquise.”

 

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . I  _ see _ .”

 

The look she gave him was blatantly assessing. She even craned her neck a little so she could sweep her gaze up and down his entire body.

 

“I see,” she said again, her lips curved into a very small smile. “He did say he was expecting you. Let me call him.”

 

Zechs wondered just  _ what _ Trowa had said to make the receptionist continue to grin as she dialed her phone.

 

“Trowa? Yes, he’s here. What do you mean  _ who _ ? He -   _ he _ is here.”

 

She smirked as she put the phone back in the cradle.

 

“He’ll be right out,” she assured Zechs.

 

And sure enough - almost as soon as she finished saying the words, the large frosted glass doors emblazoned with WL’s logo opened forcefully.

 

It had been four months since Key West. Four months since they had last seen either other without the aid of FaceTime. Four months since Zechs had touched Trowa. Four months since he had traced the curve of his lips or buried his nose in the fine, unruly strands of his hair.

 

He was… very different than Key West Trowa.

 

Gone was the straw fedora, sunglasses, deeply cut v-neck t-shirts and fitted shorts.

 

Standing in front of Zechs  _ now _ was a man both achingly familiar and intriguingly new.

 

He was wearing a gray button up shirt and a darker gray tie, neatly tucked into a green cardigan and his tan corduroy trousers were fitted well enough to remind Zechs of the jeans he had stripped off of Trowa down in Key West. Trowa’s hair was gelled and combed off of his face and he was wearing glasses.

 

Zechs had seen the hairstyle before, during some of their FaceTime conversations over the last few months, but he had never seen the glasses.

 

“Hi.”

 

The soft smirk on Trowa’s face was a little guarded, the expression in his eyes just unsure enough that it tugged at Zechs.

 

“Hi,” he responded, and something in his face or his voice made Trowa relax a fraction, made his smirk tilt up and his eyes turn warm.

 

The receptionist cleared her throat meaningfully.

 

Trowa started.

 

“Here, let me -” he started to reach for Zechs’s bags.

 

“I’ve got it,” Zechs assured him,  latching onto the handle of his rolling suitcase and adjusting his laptop case back over his shoulder.

 

Trowa’s lips twitched, but he gamely opened the door and gestured for Zechs to proceed him into WL Publishing.

 

It was, Zechs couldn’t help but think, a nightmare that only a millennial would dream up.

 

The office was open-concept, in that Zechs couldn’t see a single wall or cubicle except for a transparent glass divider that separated what he assumed was the conference room from the rest of the space.

 

The desks, all ten or so of them, seemed to be arranged haphazardly, and while they  were all a matching glossy white, they were of varying sizes and styles, and decorated in a riot of color.

 

The walls had been painted a comfortingly neutral grayish-blue, and they were decorated with black and white photographs of Chicago - Zechs wondered if someone had simply forgotten to turn the walls into the same eyesore as the rest of the office.

 

Trowa led him past an arrangement of white armchairs and couches situated around a few low white tables,  to one of the desks.

 

There were several plants crowded on it, vines dangling over the computer monitor and the binders and precariously stacked books that were all crammed together on shelves and desk.

 

Zechs never would have picked it out as Trowa’s. Then again, he never would have thought Trowa worked in a place that looked like  _ this _ .

 

Something of his bemusement must have been obvious.

 

“Not quite what you pictured?” Trowa murmured, voice low enough that the men and women at the nearby desks, who were failing  _ miserably _ at looking busy, couldn’t hear him.

 

Zechs shrugged.

 

“I can’t say that I spent much time picturing you at  _ work _ .”

 

Trowa smirked and gestured for Zechs to put down his bags.

 

“Would you like a tour?”

 

Zechs arched one eyebrow and looked around. He wondered what the tour could possibly include that wasn’t already on display.

 

There didn’t even appear to be a break room - a drink trolley was parked beside the sitting area with carafes of coffee, water and juice, sodas, snacks and condiments arrayed on the lower shelves. 

 

“I think I’ve seen the highlights,” Zechs said.

 

Trowa shrugged, still smirking.

 

“I didn’t realize you would get here so quickly - traffic is usually worse. I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

 

Zechs shrugged. He had been surprised as well, but the cab ride from O’Hare to downtown Chicago had taken less than twenty minutes.

 

_ The Loop _ , his Lyft driver had corrected him when Zechs gave the address to her.

 

“We’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes, our Team Alignment Meeting. I thought you wouldn’t get here until it was over. I -”

 

“I’m sure I can keep myself occupied,” Zechs assured him.

 

Trowa nodded, and for a moment, they stared at each other in silence. It was almost unbearably awkward.

 

Zechs hadn’t imagined some sort of Hollywood reunion - Trowa running at him and Zechs sweeping him into some grand, romantic kiss that left them both breathless and grinning at each other like fools in front of everyone around them - but he hadn’t thought it would be quite like  _ this _ , either.

 

They hadn’t even touched, except for that aborted attempt of Trowa’s to take the bags, just one second of Trowa’s fingers brushing against his own.

 

He had harbored some half-formed idea of hauling Trowa off to his office break room, hanging onto that pleasant fantasy while his Lyft driver tore through shockingly empty streets, and Zechs held onto the door handle for dear life.

 

That, of course, was now an impossibility. Zechs glared at the beverage trolley again.

 

But then he had an idea.

 

“Is there a bathroom?”

 

Trowa nodded, and then his lips curved upwards into that mocking smirk that Zechs had become  _ very _ familiar with.

 

“Don’t,” he warned Trowa, before the younger man was able to deliver some quip about Zechs’ age and his bladder, “I would just like somewhere a little more  _ private _ than this to properly say hello to you.”

 

_ That _ had Trowa simultaneously blushing and smirking.

 

And heading towards the perimeter of the office, stride brisk and purposeful.

 

Zechs was smirking himself as he fell into step behind the other man.

 

He had been half-afraid that the bathroom would not, in fact, be private- perhaps another millennial nightmare that further explored the boundaries of ‘open concept’ - but Trowa led him into a gender neutral bathroom and locked the door behind them.

 

Zechs arched an eyebrow, realizing that the bathroom was a single stall unit, that the entire office had no doubt seen Trowa escort Zechs into it.

 

It wasn’t the  _ same _ as kissing Trowa in front of them, but it wasn’t terribly far off.

 

Trowa didn’t seem to have any hang-ups, however. He backed Zechs against the locked door, head tilted up and lips already parted.

 

Zechs took the invitation without hesitation, reaching out to haul Trowa against him, hands on his ass, and met Trowa’s lips with his own in a kiss that was  _ far _ more desperate than Zechs was comfortable admitting to.

 

He had longed for this, all of these months, had dreamed of Trowa, of the feel of his lithe body, the scrape of his teeth against Zechs’s tongue, his skin, his cock, the heat of his mouth, the firm press of his lips, the playful, taunting dance of his tongue. 

 

The way he practically  _ melted _ against Zechs when he pulled at Trowa’s hair, tilting his head back even further so that he could kiss and bite his way down Trowa’s throat.

 

Trowa’s fingers were digging into his hips, silently begging.

 

Zechs tugged at Trowa’s tie, loosening it so that he could work the top two buttons of Trowa’s shirt loose.

 

“Zechs,” Trowa groaned.

 

“What do you want?” Zechs growled and Trowa shivered and thrust against him, hips rocking forward and fingers flexing.

 

“You,” Trowa breathed, his eyes hooded and his lips already swollen, after just that one savage kiss.

 

Zechs loosened his grip on Trowa’s hair and ran one hand down the side of his face.

 

“You have me,” he pointed out. 

 

“ _ Finally _ ,” Trowa muttered, petulant and regretful.

 

“Yes. Finally,” Zechs agreed. 

 

He kissed Trowa’s mouth again, capturing those too tempting lips, finally possessing the man he hadn’t been able to forget, hadn’t  _ wanted _ to forget. 

 

Trowa’s hands moved up Zechs’s chest, retracing the paths he had taken months ago, tangled in the sheets of their Key West hotel rooms. Trowa curled his hands around Zechs’s neck, fingers teasing at the hair he had pulled back into a low tail.

 

“Mark me,” Trowa demanded.

 

Zechs moved his hand down to Trowa’s throat, thumbed over his collarbone and the sensitive skin just above.

 

“You have your Team Alignment Meeting,” he reminded Trowa, but he was already picking out the exact spot he wanted, teasing his thumb up Trowa’s throat, just where his collar would  _ almost _ cover it.

 

“Please,” Trowa looked him in the eye, holding his gaze, daring him as much as begging.

 

Zechs smirked.

 

“Since you said  _ please _ .” He pressed another, quick hard kiss to Trowa’s mouth, thrusting his tongue into the hot depths simply because he  _ could _ , because it felt so damn  _ good _ , and he had wanted to for too long.

 

He replaced his thumb with his mouth, laying down a broad stripe with his tongue and Trowa shivered and arched against him.

 

“Yes,” he moaned.

 

Zechs gave the area a delicate, teasing bite, and then he sucked the flesh into his mouth.

 

Trowa clutched at him, holding his head in place and clinging to him for support at the same time.

 

Zechs wished they had more time - wished they were someplace that  _ wasn’t _ the hardly private bathroom at Trowa’s office, wished this wasn’t the  _ first _ time he had Trowa in his arms in four months.

 

But even so, as he eased away, he saw Trowa’s skin was already a vivid, angry red. He bruised easily, something that Zechs had taken full advantage of in Key West, decorating Trowa’s body with marks and then taking visceral pride in the sight of the bruises on his flesh later.

 

Trowa’s eyes were hazy, the pupils dilated, and he looked sated.

 

Zechs set his shirt to rights, retying the tie while Trowa smirked up at him.

 

“I missed you,” Trowa said as Zechs tugged the tie into place.

 

Zechs ran his finger over the edge of Trowa’s collar, caressing the mark that was still  _ very _ visible.

 

“I missed you too,” he admitted.

 

Trowa’s smirk settled, his eyes growing warmer, and the awkwardness of before seemed very distant.

 

“Go to your meeting,” Zechs stepped away from the door and nudged Trowa towards it. “I’ll be at your desk when you’ve finished.”

 

Trowa kissed him, light and teasing.

 

“It won’t take long. And then we can go home and keep exploring your idea of a ‘proper hello.’”

 

-o-

  
  


Not long turned out to be nearly an hour. It was more than enough time for Zechs to catch up on his work emails - it was more than a little mind boggling just how many things could go wrong when he decided to take a long weekend. 

 

It also gave Zechs time to look around Trowa’s desk, to push aside the leaves and vines of his plants and notice the two photographs that Trowa had pinned to a dry erase calendar on the wall of his space.

 

One was of a red haired woman and two red haired children, all smiling into the camera, sitting on the porch of an old farmhouse.

 

Zechs assumed it was Catherine, Trowa’s sister, and her children. Trowa had mentioned them in passing, down in Key West, and then had told Zechs more about them, and about growing up on a farm in Ohio, during the many phone calls they had exchanged in the months since Key West.

 

The other photograph made Zechs smirk. 

 

It was of Trowa and Zechs, standing in Mallory Square during sunset. Trowa had been caught mid laugh, his eyes scrunched closed, mouth open and lips curved upwards while Zechs, in contrast, was scowling in concentration. 

 

Zechs had been the one to take the picture, Trowa teasing him all the while about Zechs’ inability to take a proper selfie. Trowa had scrolled through Zechs’ attempts afterwards and forwarded several to himself before handing Zechs the phone back and pronouncing him a lost cause.

 

It was the exact same photograph that Zechs had assigned to Trowa in his phone, after leaving Key West. The image of Trowa, delighted at Zechs’ ineptitude, cheeks flushed from the sun and the margaritas they had just finished, was difficult to look away from.

 

Zechs had found himself scrolling through the photographs of their time in Key West with concerning frequency over the last few months.

 

He had assumed, the morning he left Trowa, still half asleep and wrapped in the rumpled and stained sheets of his hotel room bed, that the two of them might exchange an occasional text but that Trowa would quickly forget about Zechs and move on to new conquests and Zechs… well. He hadn’t fooled himself into thinking that Trowa would be easy to forget, but he also hadn’t thought he would be so  _ besotted _ with him.

 

Trowa had been the first to text. Two days after Zechs had returned to New York, Trowa had gone home to Chicago and he had sent Zechs a photograph of himself wearing a slightly rumpled, pink linen shirt. It was unbuttoned, and he wasn’t wearing anything else.

 

**_I think this is yours_ ** **.**

 

It had taken Zechs a moment to even register that there was an actual text accompanying the photograph.

 

**_The shirt or you?_ **

 

**_I don’t fit in the mail._ **

 

**_Then I’ll have to arrange a date to collect what’s mine in person._ **

 

Zechs had wondered at himself, sending that text, hinting at a continuation of… whatever it was they had had in Key West.

 

But over the next four months, as one suggestive text turned into another - as Trowa created an entire  _ series _ of photographs of himself wearing Zechs’ shirt and doing increasingly more inappropriate things, considering the fact that he always sent Zechs the texts during work hours - Zechs stopped questioning it. 

 

The texts turned into phone calls, the first from Zechs, one night after celebratory drinks at the bar with a client whose case he had just won, and Zechs realizing he wanted, more than anything else, to simply hear Trowa’s voice again. 

 

The phone calls became FaceTime and Skype calls, Trowa answering the first call wearing, once again, nothing but Zechs’ shirt, and while they had had more than a few of those calls that were actual, surprisingly personal conversations, most of them began or ended with sex. 

 

Zechs found that he quite enjoyed getting to sit back and tell Trowa what to do, how to touch himself, how  _ not _ to touch himself, when he could get off.  And Trowa, meanwhile, proved to be  _ very _ enthusiastic about doing everything Zechs requested.

 

It wasn’t the same, of course, as talking to Trowa in person, as bending him over the couch in his apartment and fucking him while Trowa begged for more, but it was surprisingly satisfying, all the same.

 

It had also proved to be an unexpected deterrent for Zechs’ dating anyone else.

 

_ He _ had been the one to tell Trowa that this wasn’t a relationship, at least not one that should keep Trowa from pursuing someone else. Trowa had given him a look, not quite an eyeroll, but close enough that Zechs had felt foolish for assuming Trowa would be alone and pining after Zechs in the same way that Zechs pined for him.

 

And yet, none of the men Zechs had gone on dates with or taken home, in the four months since he had had Trowa in his bed, had compared to the other man.

 

_ You are so pathetically smitten _ , Relena had teased him, absolutely delighted when she discovered that her older brother was engaged in a long distance relationship with his vacation fling.

 

She wasn’t wrong, and Zechs  _ knew _ it was pathetic. Had known that, from almost the start of the entire thing.

 

It hadn’t stopped him from suggesting that they try to meet up, two months ago. It hadn’t stopped him from being furious with the senior partner who called Zechs in as his second chair on a case the very week that Zechs had arranged to fly out to Memphis, where Trowa was working on his next piece for work, and Zechs had had to cancel the plans.

 

And it hadn’t stopped him from agreeing  _ immediately _ when Trowa invited him to come out and visit him in Chicago the first week of November. 

 

Now that he was actually here, now that he had felt Trowa against him and seen that smirk in person and tasted his lips again, Zechs had to wonder if there was a way to describe his feelings for Trowa that encompassed just how far gone he was  _ past _ pathetically smitten.

 

When Trowa’s meeting finally ended, Zechs forced himself to lean back in Trowa’s chair, to look as casually bored and unconcerned as possible, when all he wanted to do was grab his bags, and Trowa, and haul him out of the office and into a bed. Hell, it didn’t even have to be a bed. The nearest secluded wall would do.

 

Trowa’s colleagues strolled out of the conference room in pairs, until only Trowa, a smiling blond haired man, and a scowling Asian man were left.

 

As Zechs watched, Trowa glanced his way and offered up a tight, frustrated smile. Even from across the room, Zechs could read Trowa’s body language well enough to know that he was anxious to get out of there. 

 

He wondered if there was something specific to the meeting that Trowa wanted to get away from or, he hoped, if it was simply so he and Zechs could escape.

 

Finally, the three men rose from the conference table and gathered their things before filing out of the room.

 

Trowa made a beeline for Zechs, long legs striding across the room in a way that was endearingly more about speed than grace.

 

Zechs arched an eyebrow when Trowa got close and Trowa arched one in return, the right corner of his mouth quirking upwards to match.

 

“Ready?” Trowa asked him.

 

“For what?” Zechs teased, slowly standing up and giving Trowa back his desk chair.

 

Trowa sat down in the chair, looked very pointedly at Zechs’s crotch, and then turned to his computer to begin shutting it down.

 

“To get out of here and -”

 

“ _ You _ must be Zechs.”

 

Trowa’s shoulders slumped and he sighed, audibly and loudly.

 

Zechs turned and saw both the blond man and the Asian man standing nearby.

 

The blond man was grinning, the expression open and friendly on his handsome face, while the other man was giving Zechs a rather skeptical look.

 

“Must he be?” The Asian man murmured with a raised eyebrow.

 

Zechs couldn’t decide whether or not he disliked him for that.

 

“Zechs, this is my boss, Quatre Winner, and Wufei Chang, the senior editor. Wufei, Quatre, this is Zechs Merquise.” Trowa made the introductions without looking away from his computer, and his voice sounded weary and uninterested.

 

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” Quatre stepped forward and held out his hand.

 

_ Finally? _

 

Zechs met the hand with his own.

 

“And you,” he said, baffled and unable to come up with a smooth response.

 

Wufei did not offer his hand.

 

The skeptical look had become downright judgemental, and Zechs prickled under the dark gaze. 

 

“Well. I’ll see you on Monday.” Trowa stood up from his desk, grabbing a computer bag in one hand and the coat draped over his chair in the other.

 

Wufei’s expression turned amused, but Quatre’s grin faltered a little.

 

“Oh. Skipping out on the office happy hour tonight, then?”

 

Zechs saw Trowa draw in a deep breath.

 

“Yeah. Zechs has had a long day and -”

 

“It’s only a few drinks, though,” Quatre countered, turning that disarming smile back on Zechs. “It will give us the chance to get to know you a little!”

 

“Yes,” Wufei agreed, smirking openly, “it isn’t every day Trowa has an out of town visitor.”

 

Zechs didn’t know if the dig was aimed at him or Trowa, but Trowa’s lips tightened and he glared at Wufei.

 

“I’m sure Zechs wants to shower and relax. He’s probably hungry and -”

 

“Can’t he speak for himself?” Wufei interrupted.

 

“I can,” Zechs confirmed, but he hesitated to say more. He didn’t want to be rude to the two men that Trowa worked for, but Trowa’s barely polite rebuttal of the offer to go out wasn’t seeming to get through to them.

 

“We don’t meet at the bar until nine, anyway. Plenty of time for a shower and dinner,” Quatre waved off that excuse.

 

Trowa turned from the two men and focused on Zechs. There was  _ nothing _ in his face that suggested he had any interest in going out with the other men.

 

But Zechs, who had struggled up the corporate law ladder, clawing his way from associate to junior partner in record time and now angling for a full partnership, knew the damage that avoiding work functions could have on a career.

 

He shrugged.

 

“A few drinks sounds good.”

 

Quatre looked delighted, Wufei satisfied, and Trowa completely nonplussed.

 

“Excellent. Then we’ll see you at the Frontier in a few hours!”

 

The two men walked away and Zechs picked up his bags from beside Trowa’s desk.

 

“Shall we?”

 

Trowa nodded, his expression still tight, and led the way out of the office.

 

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator, alone and leaning against the rear wall of the car, that Trowa turned to him and spoke again.

 

“We don’t have to go. I can text him and cancel.”

 

Zechs wanted to flatter himself that Trowa didn’t want to sacrifice any of their scant time together by squandering it on drinks with his colleagues, but Trowa seemed very determined to avoid going out with them. Which made Zechs curious.

 

“I don’t mind,” he assured Trowa. “After all, we’ll need some sort of break.”

 

“A break?”

 

“Hm.” Zechs stepped close and angled his head down so he could nip at the mark he had left on Trowa’s neck. “I can’t keep you handcuffed to your bed for the entire four days I’m here. You’ll want to stretch and eat and bathe at some point.”

 

Trowa shivered against him, turning his head so that his lips brushed over Zechs’ as he straightened back up.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“Well, I don’t have another four day sex marathon to compare it to, but I think it’s a safe assumption to -”

 

Trowa gave him a look and snorted.

 

“You don’t want to go. Why?”

 

It suddenly occurred to Zechs that Trowa might not want to go out with  _ him _ and his friends and colleagues. After all, Zechs was nearly a dozen years older than Trowa and the other men and women he had seen in that office. 

 

Trowa shrugged, but was saved from answering by the elevator’s arrival on the ground floor.

 

Zechs followed Trowa through the building’s lobby and out to the street. 

 

The office building was directly across from Millennium Park, and even though it was cold and fairly windy, Zechs saw more than a few tourists walking towards the infamous Cloud Gate sculpture, the reflective silver surface glinting through the trees.

 

Trowa was silent as he hailed a cab, and as he helped Zechs load his bags into the trunk before they both slid into the backseat.

 

After Trowa gave the driver his address, though, he leaned back against the seat and laid his hand, palm up, on the seat between them.

 

Zechs slid his fingers into Trowa’s.

 

“I’d rather stay home with you. Or go out with  _ just _ you,” Trowa said, answering Zechs’ earlier question.

 

“So would I,” Zechs sighed. “But I don’t want to get in the way of your work.”

 

Trowa snorted.

 

“Going out for drinks with them isn’t  _ for _ work. It’s so they can give me a hard time about you, and Wufei can try to get under your skin and - and Hilde will probably be there too. And Meilan. And -”

 

“Two drinks,” Zechs cut him off. He leaned over and lowered his voice. “And then we’ll go back to your apartment and you can model my shirt for me in person.”

 

Trowa smirked at that, leaning towards Zechs before he caught himself and, with a regretful glance towards the driver who was paying more attention to them than the street in front of him, Trowa eased back against the seat.

 

“That sounds good.”

 

The rest of the ride was silent, Zechs unashamedly looking out of the windows at the city he had only been to once before, as a teenager. It was  _ nice _ to sit there with Trowa, touching him, settling into his company again.

 

After only a few minutes, the driver pulled up beside an ivy covered brick townhouse.

 

Zechs had to smirk. At the ivy, at the red door. Trowa had never described where he lived, but this - far more than the office he worked at - fit with Zechs’ mental image of Trowa and his life.

 

He waved Trowa’s hand away when he tried to pay for the ride, and they unloaded their bags from the trunk and made their way up the the stairs to the front stoop.

 

Zechs had seen glimpses of Trowa’s apartment during their Facetime and Skype calls, so he didn’t feel compelled to ask for a tour or make a show of looking around when Trowa opened the door and gestured him inside. 

 

“Here it is. My humble abode.”

 

He nodded and followed Trowa’s lead in toeing off his shoes and putting them against the wall.

 

“So,” Trowa dropped his bag by the door and took off his coat. “Are you hungry?”

 

Zechs sat down his own bags. 

 

“Starving.” He hadn’t eaten since that morning, grabbing a bagel on his way to LaGuardia to catch his flight.

 

“Do you want to go out or I could call in something or…” Trowa frowned and glanced towards what Zechs assumed was the kitchen, “I could probably throw together an omelette.”

 

“Tempting.” 

 

Zechs moved closer to Trowa and reached for his waist, waiting for Trowa to look up and meet his gaze before he started to loosen Trowa’s belt and work the fly of his trousers down.

 

“I had something else in mind, though. If that’s alright with you.” He slipped his hand under the soft cotton of Trowa’s briefs and palmed his cock.

 

Trowa released a soft, startled chuckle.

 

“What kind of host would I be if I didn’t let my guest have his way?”

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

“Letting you have your way with me? I think we’ve established that I don’t mind it at all,” Trowa reminded him.

 

Zechs smirked, both at the words and at the way Trowa’s cheeks were already flushed, at just his touch and the thought of more.

 

He pressed a quick, hard kiss to Trowa’s lips and then knelt down, pushing Trowa’s trousers and briefs down to his thighs as he did.

 

He focused his attention on Trowa’s cock, already growing hard in his hand, and he guided the shaft into his mouth.

 

Trowa sighed in contentment, leaning back against the wall and looking down at Zechs as he swallowed Trowa’s length.

 

“ _ Fuck, _ I’ve missed you,” Trowa groaned when Zechs smoothed his hands over Trowa’s bare ass and squeezed the cheeks.

 

Zechs swirled his tongue around Trowa’s cock, feeling it grow harder and longer, swelling and firming under his care.

 

He ran his teeth against the sensitive flesh just under the head and Trowa shuddered.

 

His eyes were dark and bottomless, the pupils dilated. It was a look that Zechs had missed, that Facetime could never quite convey.

 

Another thing Facetime hadn’t been able to share had been Trowa’s scent, his soap and  _ him _ combining to make Zechs’ mouth water as he inhaled. 

 

Of course, it was the feel of Trowa, of his trembling thighs and his clutching hands and his hips, rocking into Zechs’ mouth as Zechs fondled Trowa’s balls and sucked on just the head of his cock, leaving the now wet shaft exposed to the cool air of the apartment, that Zechs had missed the most.

 

He moved his hand away from Trowa’s ass and and stroked his cock, keeping his mouth focused on just the head while he worked over the rest of the firm flesh with his fingers.

 

Soon, he had Trowa on the brink of orgasm. His head was thrown back, eyes closed and long neck stretched out as he gasped and groaned. Zechs could see the mark, bright and straining against the collar of his shirt.

 

Zechs shifted his angle, taking Trowa’s entire length into his mouth again.

 

“Fuck, oh fuck,  _ yes _ ,” Trowa moaned as Zechs hollowed his cheeks and sucked on him in earnest, moving his head backwards and forwards, Trowa’s cock filling his mouth and swelling even as his fingers tightened on Zechs’ shoulders.

 

And then Trowa cried out, pleasure and relief coloring the wordless sound and Zechs had to move his hands to Trowa’s thighs, holding him upright while he milked him, swallowing Trowa’s cum as Trowa gave shallow, involuntary thrusts of his hips with each spurt.

 

He eased away when he heard Trowa give a low whimper, and he released Trowa’s still hard cock from his mouth and rose to his feet.

 

Trowa met his mouth eagerly, lips parting and his tongue delving into Zechs’ mouth to taste himself.

 

Zechs held him close, pressing the length of his body against Trowa, rocking his own painfully hard cock against Trowa’s groin.

 

Trowa’s arms came up around his neck, fingers tugging at his hair even as he opened his mouth wider, inviting Zechs to thrust his tongue inside the hot, welcoming cavern. 

 

Just kissing Trowa felt good. So damn good. The way he met each movement of Zechs’ - tongues dancing together, mouth and lips moving against Zechs’, hands and fingers clinging to him, soft sighs encouraging him - it was heaven.

 

Eventually, he gentled the kiss and then pulled away entirely. 

 

He looked down into Trowa’s eyes, hooded and hot, at his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

 

Trowa looked thoroughly wrecked, and Zechs felt some measure of pride for that.

 

He smirked and ran his thumb around Trowa’s mouth.

 

The younger man nipped at the digit, capturing it between his teeth momentarily.

 

“Brat,” Zechs said fondly.

 

Trowa just smirked back up at him.

 

“ _ That _ was definitely a proper hello,” he said.

 

Zechs chuckled and had to kiss him again.

 

“Yes,” he agreed. “It was.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: For Ro. Wishing you a very happy birthday and thanking you for all of the years of friendship and support. And beta reading. And ridiculous email chains. And everything.

 

A/N2: I couldn’t very well have you edit your own birthday fic. So many, many thanks to Kangofu-CB for beta reading this for me.

 

A/N3: A continuation of  _ Cypress _ , as requested. This picks up a few months after the vacation in Key West. I would strongly recommend reading that fic first. 

 

Warnings: angst, language, sex. 

 

Pairings: 6x3

 

_ Cypress _

 

Chapter Four

 

Trowa’s apartment was a vaguely triangular shape, the combination living room and dining room carved out of one side of the triangle and mostly rectangular, while the rest of the rooms in the apartment were decidedly  _ not _ .

 

The kitchen was galley style, following a diagonal line that connected the living area to Trowa’s bedroom and the apartment’s only bathroom.

 

Trowa’s bedroom was situated at the top of the triangle, in Zechs’ mind, with the headboard of his bead cutting across the point. It gave the room an odd layout, especially since Trowa had installed bookshelves on one wall but not the other, creating a lack of balance that Zechs found slightly disconcerting. 

 

Aside from the minuscule kitchen, the only room to really suffer from the odd shape of the apartment was the bathroom - it was  _ very _ small. The glass walled shower stall butted up directly against the sink, and there was no tub.

 

“There go my plans of inviting you to shower with me,” Zechs remarked when Trowa showed him the room.

 

Trowa smirked.

 

“I think you’ll be surprised just how well we’ll fit in there.”

 

And he was.

 

Quite pleasantly surprised.

 

Especially after Trowa slathered Zechs’ cock with soap and then his own ass, encouraging Zechs to slide between his cheeks. It wasn’t the same as fucking him properly, but it was certainly an enjoyable prelude for Zechs’ future plans involving Trowa’s ass.

 

After they had both gotten off, Trowa left Zechs to shower alone, and by the time he was out, hair dry and dressed again, it was nearly eight.

 

“Dinner?” Trowa was sitting on the couch in his living room, reading a book, still wearing his glasses, when Zechs stepped into the room.

 

Zechs sat down beside him, stretching one arm out along the back of the couch, and Trowa shifted, leaning against him, and fitting so perfectly and naturally that Zechs didn’t even want to  _ think _ about moving from the spot. Especially not to go out.

 

“I didn’t realize you had glasses.”

 

Trowa sighed and self-consciously adjusted them.

 

“I have contacts. But I forgot to order more when I ran out last week, and the new box won’t be here until Tuesday.” He sounded irritated with himself.

 

“The glasses are a nice look,” Zechs assured him.

 

Trowa tilted his head and looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.

 

“Oh? You have a lot of fantasies about fucking the nerdy, skinny kid in glasses?”

 

“You mean the sexy brat in glasses? Yes, I do.”

 

Trowa still looked a little skeptical, and Zechs had to wonder at it. Trowa  _ knew _ how attractive he was, certainly knew how attractive Zechs found him to be. 

 

In Key West he had flirted with skill and ease, had shrugged off or returned the appreciative glances of strangers in a practiced manner that had suggested he knew very well the effect he had on others.

 

He had had moments of self-consciousness, usually after he said something personally revealing, and while Zechs actually found those endearing, this wasn’t like that.

 

“I didn’t get contacts until after college,” Trowa sighed, seeing Zechs’ curiosity. “And I didn’t really put on weight  _ until _ college. High school was…”

 

“High school was awful for almost everyone,” Zechs assured him, and Trowa shrugged.

 

“I know.” 

 

He touched the glasses again with a scowl.

 

“It was just stupid to let the prescription lapse.”

 

“I like them,” Zechs said again. “Don’t tell me you’ve had trouble picking up men while wearing them?”

 

Trowa snorted and gave him a look.

 

Zechs didn’t  _ actually _ want to know whether or not the glasses had put a damper on Trowa’s sex life outside of the parts that involved him, so he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against Trowa’s lips.

 

“Do we have time to go out for dinner before meeting your friends?”

 

Trowa sighed again.

 

“Yeah. Probably. Or we could eat there. The food is actually pretty good.” 

 

“Then let’s do that.” He stood up and held out a hand to help Trowa up from the couch.

 

Trowa reluctantly set down his book and accepted it.

 

Zechs pulled him to his feet.

 

“If you’re going to sulk all night, I’ll just have to put you over my knee and spank you.”

 

Trowa brightened a little at the threat, offering a single puff of laughter.

 

“Why don’t we just skip ahead to that part?” Trowa teased.

 

It was  _ very  _ tempting, and Zechs couldn’t resist hauling Trowa against him and delivering a solid smack to Trowa’s ass.

 

The younger man started, rocking into Zechs’ body with the blow, his eyes widening in surprise.

 

“I think I’d rather savor the anticipation of giving you what you deserve  _ later _ ,” Zechs told him.

 

Trowa arched an eyebrow.

 

“So you want me to  _ earn _ my spanking?”

 

Zechs rolled his eyes.

 

If they had been in Key West, he had no doubt that Trowa would have had no qualms putting on quite a show. But here? Going out for drinks with his boss and coworkers? Zechs doubted Trowa would do anything as obscene as turning pie eating erotic. Then again, Zechs wasn’t entirely sure he  _ wouldn’t _ .

 

“Hm. Perhaps it will be a reward.”

 

Trowa smirked.

 

“For you or for me?”

 

Zechs wasn’t entirely sure, considering Trowa’s trepidation and Zechs’ lack of desire to socialize with Trowa’s acquaintances.

 

“Both of us,” he decided.

 

-o-

 

The food at the Frontier was surprisingly good, for all that it seemed to be a menu that focused on completely bizarre ways to serve game meat. Zechs skeptically ordered the duck tacos at Trowa’s urging, and he found himself enjoying both the tacos and the way Trowa tangled their legs together under the table.

 

His enjoyment significantly diminished with the arrival of Trowa’s coworkers, however. Not so much because of their mere existence - although the boisterous greeting from Hilde, who insisted on throwing one arm over both Trowa and Zechs’ shoulders as she said her hellos, wasn’t something he had expected or felt too comfortable with - but Trowa straightened in his seat and shifted his leg away from Zechs’.

 

With each new arrival, Trowa seemed to shift farther and farther away from Zechs, shoulders stiffening and face becoming guarded, and Zechs had to wonder  _ why _ Trowa was so miserable.

 

He had seemed completely at ease with total strangers in Key West, had, in fact, had no problem inserting himself into Zechs’ orbit either.

 

But among his coworkers, the people who arguably knew Trowa better than Zechs did himself, Trowa was retreating into himself and was so clearly uncomfortable that Zechs had to wonder  _ why _ .

 

Was it  _ his _ presence? 

 

Or was Trowa always like this around them?

 

That didn’t seem likely. Then again, neither Quatre or Wufei had seemed that phased with Trowa’s reluctance to introduce Zechs, or go out with them that night.

 

Trowa was, had always been, a bit of a mystery. And while Zechs certainly enjoyed unraveling him, he wasn’t comfortable with the creeping realization that  _ he _ might not be all that enjoyable for Trowa.

 

Quatre and Wufei were among the - Zechs hoped - last to arrive, walking in together and trading smirks when they saw the group at the back of the bar. 

 

As they approached, Zechs realized they had to be a couple - the way they looked at each other, how closely they stood beside one another, the way Wufei held out Quatre’s chair for him.

 

That was interesting, considering the almost possessive way Wufei had acted towards Trowa at the office.

 

“Well, I’m so glad you two made it!” Quatre grinned enthusiastically at them over the table.

 

Meilan, a rather sardonic woman whose greeting had consisted of a raised eyebrow, snorted.

 

“As if they had a choice. From the minute you figured out Trowa’s boytoy was visiting you’ve been planning this.”

 

Her words had several people smirking, or chuckling outright.

 

Trowa, however, tensed even further.

 

Zechs arched an eyebrow.

 

“ _ Boytoy _ ?”

 

Hilde laughed.

 

“Oh, that’s not what Trowa calls you. But  _ we _ had to call you something. And man toy just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

 

Zechs looked at Trowa. He hadn’t realized Trowa had talked about him at work, hadn’t even thought he was the type to casually discuss his private life. Zechs wasn’t offended, but he did wonder how Trowa could be comfortable talking about Zechs to his co-workers, and yet so uncomfortable having Zechs actually  _ there _ with them.

 

It was a frustrating conundrum, and after nearly an hour of sitting beside a silent, straight backed, stiff shouldered Trowa and listening to the easy camaraderie of the others, Zechs finally got up from the table, claiming he needed to take a call, and stepped outside.

 

The chill November air was hardly relaxing, but Zechs appreciated it all the same.

 

Perhaps it had been a mistake to visit Trowa? Perhaps their  _ relationship _ was, in fact, best when distance separated them? 

 

Then again, Trowa had seemed  _ very _ enthusiastic about spending time with Zechs, alone and away from the people who knew him. 

 

“Oh. Fuck.”

 

He looked up to see Hilde stepping outside, wrapped in a heavy coat and holding up an unlit cigarette to her lips.

 

Zechs arched an eyebrow at her and she sighed.

 

“I thought maybe you were another smoker. I’m the  _ only _ one and it feels like shit to always sneak off and smoke alone.”

 

Zechs shrugged. He’d smoked for a year or so in college, a short lived act of rebellion that he had given up his junior year, when he spent the summer sailing in South Africa and simply hadn’t  _ cared _ about buying more cigarettes after he ran out of his last pack.

 

He held out a hand and Hilde smirked as she dug out another cigarette for him.

 

After lighting it, he took a long, burning drag.

 

“So… I wondered about you.”

 

Zechs looked down at her. 

 

“About Trowa’s boytoy?”

 

She snickered and shrugged.

 

“I mean, I voted to call you his sugar daddy, but Trowa said he’d spend the rest of his life sabotaging my hookups if I did that.”

 

Zechs felt his lips twitch as he pictured Trowa both delivering the threat and making good on it.

 

“When exactly was this naming convention held?”

 

“Oh, after -  _ oh _ ! He didn’t  _ tell _ you?”

 

Hilde’s eyes had grown wide and delighted, and Zechs felt trepidation grow at her excitement.

 

“No, he didn’t.” Zechs sincerely hoped that Hilde  _ would _ .

 

She gave him a smug little smirk and took a long, thoughtful drag.

 

“He was in Key West in… June?”

 

“July,” Zechs corrected her and her smirk grew. 

 

“That’s right.” She had, clearly, known it was July. Zechs glowered at her but she seemed completely immune to the look. “Anyway, when he got back, he was putting together the article and we were looking for the right photos and there was one of  _ you _ and then another one and another, and then Quatre grabbed Trowa’s phone and we found a  _ stash _ of, um, very flattering photos?”

 

Zechs refused to feel mortified. He actively willed himself not to flinch away from her delighted gaze. 

 

He knew exactly the photos she was talking about, from their last night together in Key West. He had a bit of a stash himself. But he didn’t have nosy coworkers who found it so easy to invade his privacy.

 

“Anyway,” Hilde shrugged, “he turned this amazing shade of red - he doesn’t blush often, you know? There’s very little that embarrasses Trowa Barton - so we’ve kind of… given him hell about you ever since.”

 

Zechs considered how often  _ he _ managed to make Trowa blush, and silently congratulated himself.

 

Hilde gave him a long, appraising look.

 

“You were hot as hell in the photos, but in person… I get it. Totally get it.”

 

“Get  _ what _ ?” Zechs wondered if all interactions with Hilde were this exasperating.

 

She shrugged.

 

“Trowa all besotted with you. You’re his first, you know.”

 

“No, I’m not,” Zechs assured her.

 

Hilde stared at him and then burst out laughing.

 

“Oh - oh God, no, no of course you aren’t his  _ first _ . Oh my god. Trowa definitely didn’t make it through high school still a virgin much less - no. No, that’s not what I meant.” Hilde wiped tears of mirth from her eyes and Zechs couldn’t help but glare at her.

 

She cleared her throat.

 

“No, I meant you’re his first boyfriend. Or whatever you two are.”

 

That seemed just as improbable as Zechs’ assumption that Hilde believed Trowa to have been a virgin.

 

“Seriously, you’re the first he’s ever introduced us to. In person or photograph form,” she added with a smirk. “We all went to college together, you know. Well, not Meilan - _ Yale _ , the lucky bitch. And Trowa… well, he’s always been more of the one night or one week kind of guy, you know? He’s good at sex but not so much relationships. Well - okay, he and Wufei  _ maybe _ dated? But I don’t think that really counts. And they definitely weren’t any good at it.”

 

Zechs felt confident this was all more information than he needed or wanted to know, but Hilde seemed perfectly comfortable talking about Trowa’s sex life. She also seemed very knowledgeable.

 

“Anyway, I always wondered what it would take to get him to settle down -who knew he liked older guys?”

 

Hilde finished off her cigarette, pinching off the ash before she walked a few feet away to deposit the butt in a trash can.

 

Zechs followed her example, and then accepted the piece of gum she held out to him.

 

“Just don’t let Wufei scare you off,” she said with a smirk as she opened the door and gestured for him to precede her back into the bar.

 

Armed with  _ that _ warning, Zechs very reluctantly returned to the table.

 

Trowa gave him a look, eyes tight and a little anxious.

 

Zechs offered him a bland smile, but under the table he laced their fingers together and gave Trowa’s hand a brief squeeze. It earned him an almost minuscule twitch of Trowa’s lips.

 

“So, when you aren’t doing Trowa, what  _ do _ you do, Zechs?” Hilde asked as she regained her own seat.

 

More laughter, more tension from Trowa.

 

But now, Zechs understood it - or at least, he thought he did.

 

He  _ hoped _ that Trowa’s anxiety revolved around the worry that his invasive friends would say or do something to chase Zechs away. He certainly hoped he could allay those fears. And get them out of the bar and back to Trowa’s apartment as soon as politely possible.

 

Not, he thought bitterly, that politeness seemed to have much value with this group.

 

“I’m a lawyer,” he sighed.

 

“Ohhh,” Meilan cooed, dark eyes sparkling. “So you can afford to keep Trowa in the style to which he’d like to become accustomed?”

 

“Mei,” Trowa sighed.

 

“What? We’re all just looking out for you.”

 

Trowa snorted derisively at  _ that _ ludicrous suggestion, and Zechs decided to refrain from commenting at all.

 

“And you live in New York?” Quatre jumped in.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Long distance isn’t very easy,” Wufei said, his tone idle but his eyes  _ very _ direct.

 

“ _ Wufei _ ,” Trowa bit out, glaring at the other man, “drop it.”

 

It seemed that in Zechs’ absence, Trowa had lost whatever desire he had had to remain silent. 

 

Zechs felt a little slow, however, as he pieced together what both Hilde and Wufei had just implied.

 

That he and Trowa were in a relationship. 

 

The kind of relationship that Zechs had told Trowa they  _ didn’t  _ have. What was it Hilde had said about Trowa?  _ Settled down _ ? 

 

Zechs stretched his arm over the back of Trowa’s chair, looking steadily at Wufei while he did.

 

He arched one eyebrow, but Wufei just smirked back at him, the look completely indecipherable.

 

“All of you went to Northwestern together?” Zechs decided to steer the conversation as far away from himself as he possibly could.

 

Trowa shoulders, under his arm, were still incredibly tense.

 

Quatre nodded, accepting the ploy gracefully.

 

“Yes - Hilde, Thomas, Wufei and I were a year ahead of Trowa, but we basically lived in the Daily office together for three years.”

 

Trowa had mentioned working on the school paper, had even been a little smug when he told Zechs he had been the editor his senior year. While Zechs didn’t know all that much about journalism programs, a quick google search had confirmed his suspicion that Northwestern had a very competitive program, and that Trowa being the editor for the student run newspaper had been a big deal.

 

“And how did you get from there to here?”

 

“Quatre’s money,” Hilde said with a smirk. The blond haired man flushed and shrugged.

 

“That’s true. We all worked on a few blogs at school - and Wufei worked on social media for his master’s degree - and we’d always talked about making a lifestyle publication for our generation.” Quatre shrugged. “I pitched the idea to the my parents and they agreed to bankroll us for the first year. But we’re on our third year and making a profit, so I’d say the investment paid off.”

 

“Here, here,” Thomas raised his glass and the others followed suit, drinking a toast to themselves.

 

“That’s quite impressive,” Zechs said.

 

Quatre shrugged self-deprecatingly, but he had a small, self-satisfied smile on his face.

 

“We worked hard. We still work hard. It’s not an easy field to stay afloat in. And now that we’re starting the weekly podcast, it’s going to get even busier.”

 

Trowa hadn’t mentioned anything about that, and Zechs’ lack of knowledge must have been obvious.

 

“We’ve been talking about it for a while now, but we solidified it at the meeting today. It’s just a weekly round table,” Trowa explained.

 

“It’s not  _ just _ anything. It’s a great idea and it’s going to bring in more traffic and increase our market share,” Quatre argued.

 

Trowa shrugged, shoulders barely lifting under Zechs’ arm.

 

“It’s a good idea. It’s going to be great,” Quatre insisted.

 

“It was  _ your _ idea,” Zechs realized, turning to Trowa.

 

The other man’s cheeks pinked ever so slightly.

 

“Yes,” he admitted.  “The podcast was. The  _ assignments _ were not.”

 

He sounded a little bitter about that.

 

Wufei rolled his eyes.

 

“Who  _ else _ has as much experience as you do with the bar scene in Chicago?”

 

“That’s not what I have a problem with,” Trowa said. “It doesn’t matter. Now isn’t the time to -”

 

Wufei scoffed and made a vague gesture at Zechs.

 

“I’m sure he  _ knows _ and appreciates all of your experience, Trowa. You’re the best one to talk about dating and hooking up - better than the rest of us. Plus, you’re the one our followers think is the sexiest.”

 

“Can’t really blame them there,” Hilde winked at Trowa, who glared back at her.

 

“Neither can I,” Zechs added and Trowa rolled his eyes.

 

“Yes, I’m so glad everyone thinks I’m sexy,” he muttered and then tossed back the last of his drink. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be some kind of authority on hooking up.”

 

“Why? It seems like you’ve mastered it,” Wufei gestured towards Zechs again.

 

Wufei and Trowa glared at each other while everyone else at the table sat in tense silence.

 

Finally, Quatre cleared his throat and offered Zechs a sheepish, apologetic smile.

 

“Was your flight long?”

 

“Very,” Zechs latched onto the excuse gratefully and made a show of checking his watch. “Perhaps we should call it a night?”

 

Trowa nodded in silent agreement, and Zechs removed his arm so that Trowa could get up from his chair.

 

“It was nice meeting all of you,” Zechs delivered the empty statement to the table at large, but when he looked at Wufei the other man looked away.

 

“Yes, and it was wonderful to meet you,” Quatre assured him. “I hope you enjoy your weekend in Chicago.”

 

“I’m sure we will.”

 

Zechs rose from his chair and barely resisted the urge to push Trowa’s money aside and pay for the meal and drinks himself.

 

He didn’t think Trowa would appreciate the gesture, and he was confident that his coworkers would use it as just another thing to tease him about.

 

They had taken a Lyft to the bar, but Trowa made no move to pull out his phone and instead started angrily walking north along the sidewalk.

 

Zechs fell into step beside him, keeping pace with Trowa, and glancing down at the firm press of his lips and the furrows between his brows. 

 

He waited until they were in a more residential area, until the foot traffic around them was practically nonexistent, and then he pulled Trowa to the side and pressed his back against a brick building.

 

Trowa started, but then looked up at him.

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, as he looked away again.

 

“For what?”

 

Trowa snorted.

 

“What do you mean for  _ what _ ? I’m sorry for all of  _ that _ .” 

 

“It’s hardly your fault that your coworkers, your… friends don’t seem to grasp the concept of you wanting to keep your personal life private from them.”

 

Trowa met his gaze again, still looking anxious and hesitant.

 

Zechs tilted his head down and brushed his lips over Trowa’s in a soft caress. He could feel the tension ease from Trowa’s body as the other man returned it, parting his lips and inviting Zechs to deepen the kiss. It was an invitation Zechs was more than happy to accept. He swept his tongue into Trowa’s mouth, tasting the gin and lavender from his cocktail. Trowa allowed Zechs to plunder his mouth, making a low, encouraging sound in the back of his throat.

 

When Zechs pulled away, placing another kiss on Trowa’s mouth before straightening up, he saw that Trowa’s expression had cleared.

 

“Tell me more about this podcast of yours.”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes and then shrugged. He nudged Zechs to the side and they started walking again, the pace a little more sedate.

 

“We can get a cab up there,” Trowa gestured towards the intersection not far from where they were. “We really can’t walk back to the apartment.”

 

“Shouldn’t take too long,” Trowa said after using his phone to arrange for a car to meet them.

 

“It’ll be good,” Trowa said eventually. “The podcast. We’ll do a weekly round table on events in Chicago for the first hour, and then the second hour will be less about local things - more about national events or lifestyle issues in general.”

 

“Issues like dating?”

 

Trowa gave him a look.

 

“Sure. I was outvoted on that one.”

 

“I’m not sure why you think you’d be bad at it.”

 

“Because I  _ am _ bad at dating. I’m great on first dates - unless I drink too much and do something stupid and embarrassing, like talk about my father,” he sighed as he referenced  _ their _ first date, that first night in Key West. “And if the sex is good enough, then I can usually get a second or third date but after that…” he shrugged again. “I’m not good at it.”

 

So maybe Hilde hadn’t been exaggerating when she said Zechs was Trowa’s first boyfriend? Aside from Wufei.

 

Zechs suspected there was some  _ very _ unfinished business between the two, and he wasn’t about to go down that rabbit hole.

 

“We went on more than three dates,” he reminded Trowa.

 

“ _ We _ aren’t in a relationship,” Trowa pointed out. “You made it really clear that this wasn’t  _ that _ .”

 

And suddenly, more pieces of the puzzle that was Trowa fell into place.

 

Zechs had been the one to insist that Trowa still see other people - and  _ he _ had assumed that the eyeroll Trowa gave him was at the presumption that Trowa would be satisfied with their arrangement without seeing other people.

 

But Trowa…

 

“We spent five days together in Key West,” Zechs said. He decided to pursue that realization later, when they were back in Trowa’s apartment and the tension from this night was behind them. “That’s at least five dates.”

 

“Great. So I can expand my repertoire to include vacation flings. It’ll be entertaining, at least.”

 

Then again, maybe he should bring it to a head now, if Trowa was going to keep thinking that way.

 

Before he could say anything, however, a car pulled up to the curb and Trowa leaned down.

 

“Alex?”

 

“Yep - hop on in!”

 

They got into the backseat and, as the driver pulled back into traffic, Zechs looked over at Trowa. 

 

His profile was once again full of tension, and Zechs was reminded of their second day together in Key West, after they had fucked, and Trowa hadn’t known quite how to react to the fact that Zechs still wanted to spend time with him.

 

It made much more sense  _ now _ , than it had at the time.

 

The ride was mercifully short, and Zechs insisted on paying for it.

 

Trowa remained silent as he unlocked the door and then closed and locked it behind them. He remained silent as he toed off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, hanging both his and Zechs’ jackets in the narrow hall closet.

 

He remained silent until he turned to Zechs with a conflicted expression on his face.

 

“You’re probably tired. And I’ve made a mess of everything. Do you -”

 

“I’ve been on six dates since Key West,” Zechs interrupted Trowa.

 

The other man closed his mouth, looking momentarily taken aback, and then his expression became completely closed.

 

“I took two of them home.”

 

A muscle in Trowa’s jaw jumped, and then he shrugged.

 

“You said this wasn’t exclusive or a relationship. Of course you’ve been with other men.”

 

The forlorn quality in Trowa’s voice tugged at Zechs.

 

“Trowa, none of them compared to you. I’ve spent the last four months thinking about  _ you. _ Wanting to be with  _ you _ .”

 

Trowa looked both skeptical and hopeful.

 

“Wufei was right,” Zechs said.

 

Trowa scoffed and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” he muttered. “He’s insufferable enough already.”

 

“Long distance isn’t easy,” Zechs continued. “I didn’t think it was something you would be interested in. I didn’t think it was something  _ I _ would be interested in.”

 

“But you are.”

 

Zechs nodded.

 

“With you? Yes. I am.”

 

Zechs slid his arms around Trowa’s waist and stepped closer.

 

“Are you?”

 

Trowa looked up at him incredulously.

 

“Zechs, I haven’t been with  _ anyone _ since Key West. Talking to you on the phone or having you tell me how to get off is infinitely better than wasting my time on some random hookup. I -” Trowa hesitated and swallowed hard. “I want you. I want whatever this is - whatever we have. I don’t want something else.”

 

Even before the bar, Zechs knew Trowa well enough to know how much that admission took.

 

“You have me,” he told Trowa, repeating the words he had spoken earlier in the day. And while  _ his _ meaning hadn’t changed, Trowa now knew the depth of Zechs’ feelings.

 

Trowa’s smirk turned more confident.

 

“I do, don't I?”

 

Trowa tugged Zechs’ head down, capturing his lips in a kiss that soon had Zechs moving closer, backing Trowa against the same wall that he had pressed the other man against earlier in the day, when they had first walked into Trowa’s apartment.

 

Zechs felt Trowa’s hands snake around his waist and edge under the hem of his sweater and undershirt.

 

He pulled away from Trowa’s mouth and brushed his lips over Trowa’s cheek, his jaw, and his throat. Trowa tilted his head, allowing better access, and when Zechs found the mark on his skin and gently bit into it, Trowa’s fingers dug into his back.

 

“Fuck me,” Trowa groaned.

 

“Ask nicely,” Zechs replied.

 

Trowa huffed a laugh and turned his head, dragging his mouth over the sensitive shell of Zechs’ ear.

 

“Will you  _ please _ fuck me, Zechs?”

 

He smirked and straightened up to his full height.

 

“Here?” He thrust forward, using his hips to pin Trowa to the wall. He ran his hand over Trowa’s right thigh, tracing the inner seam of his trousers, until he was able to feel the half-hard length of Trowa’s cock. “Is that what you’ve been wanting for the past four months? Me pounding you into this wall?” He gave another thrust and Trowa groaned.

 

“Yes,” he panted. “Fuck yes.”

 

Zechs stepped back, curving his hands over Trowa’s ass and pulling him away from the wall.

 

“I need to get a condom. And please tell me you have something besides that strawberry lube.”

 

Trowa had bought a bottle of it - the  _ exact _ brand he had had in Key West - and had taunted Zechs with it for months.

 

Even behind the glasses, Zechs could see the glint of mischief in Trowa’s eyes.

 

“Did you know Swiss Navy makes Pina Colada flavored lube?”

 

“ _ No _ ,” Zechs growled. 

 

“Mm. Also passion fruit.”

 

“Please tell me you didn’t get  _ either _ of those.”

 

“Did you just say  _ please _ ?”

 

“You’re a brat,” Zechs gave Trowa’s ass a slap. “Go get the lube.”

 

Trowa smirked again, but stepped away and headed towards the bathroom.

 

Zechs followed, veering off towards the bedroom and his luggage.

 

By the time he had fished out the box of condoms from the bottom of his bag, Trowa was back, lube in hand, leaning against the doorframe and still smirking.

 

He was also naked, and Zechs decided that, all in all, one wall was as good as another. There was certainly no need to go back to the living room when the  _ bedroom _ had plenty of walls.

 

Zechs rose to his feet and arched an eyebrow at Trowa.

 

“You seem to have lost your clothes.”

 

Trowa looked down the length of his own body and offered up a look of false surprise.

 

“You’ll have to help me find them later,” he said.

 

Zechs snorted , steering Trowa inside the bedroom and against the wall beside the dresser.

 

He ran his hand over Trowa’s torso, tracing over his favorite tattoos, and then down to his groin. He gave Trowa’s erection a teasing stroke, making the other man shiver. 

 

“Lube?”

 

Trowa presented him with the bottle of mercifully unscented, unflavored lube, and Zechs put it and the condoms on the dresser before setting about the task of undressing himself.

 

Trowa helped, hands going for Zechs’ belt while Zechs pulled his sweater over his head. By the time he reached for the hem of his undershirt, Trowa had worked Zechs’ trousers and briefs down and was palming his cock.

 

Zechs rocked forward into the contact.

 

“I’ve missed your cock,” Trowa admitted. “A lot.”

 

“And I’ve missed your ass,” Zechs said as tossed his shirt aside and stepped out of his clothes. 

 

It wasn’t the same, telling Trowa to finger himself while Zechs masturbated to the sight. Not the same at all.

 

He pushed Trowa’s hand away from his cock and turned the shorter man, so that his front was to the wall, and the graceful line of his back and his ass were exposed to Zechs’ greedy eyes.

 

Zechs nudged Trowa’s legs further apart with his thigh and reached for the lube.

 

As he teased one slick finger between the firm cheeks of Trowa’s ass, he lowered his head and pressed an open mouth kiss to Trowa’s shoulder, to the sea turtle tattoo that had  _ not _ adorned Trowa’s body before their sojourn in Key West.

 

Zechs had asked him about the tattoos, one night as he and Trowa lay in bed, nearly a thousand miles apart. They were souvenirs, of a sort. Reminders of the places Trowa had been, of experiences that had shaped him. Trowa had gone through nearly every tattoo on his body, recounting the story that had led to each. The only one he hadn’t spoken of had been the songbird on his abdomen. Judging from the stories surrounding the others, Zechs assumed it was something deeply personal, perhaps related to Trowa’s musician father, and he hadn’t pressed. 

 

The sea turtle, however, had been a surprise to him, discovered only hours earlier in the shower. It was simple, a black geometric outline, resting just above Trowa’s right shoulder blade. He had been optimistic about the tattoo earlier, about the flush on Trowa’s cheeks when Zechs smoothed his thumb over it and washed away the soap bubbles that had obscured the ink.

 

Trowa squirmed against him, pushing into Zechs’ hand impatiently.

 

He traced over the tight ring of Trowa’s entrance with his finger and kissed his way back up Trowa’s back and neck, until he could lick the shell of Trowa’s ear.

 

“Impatient?”

 

“I’ve waited  _ four _ months,” Trowa sounded petulant and Zechs smirked. He ran his fingers lower, dancing over Trowa’s perineum and applying gentle pressure. Trowa groaned in pleasure. “Please, Zechs.”

 

“At least you’ve learned manners,” Zechs laughed and bit down on Trowa’s ear lobe as he worked his way back up to Trowa’s anus.

 

He circled it again, pressing lightly, still teasing, and Trowa seemed to be holding his breath while he waited for Zechs to finally enter him.

 

Trowa groaned again, as Zechs pushed past the slight resistance and Trowa’s body opened to him. The heat and pressure, the embrace he had dreamed about for  _ months _ was intoxicating. He worked the finger in as far as he could, and he slowly pulled it out before pushing back in. Trowa was tight, and considering that he had only fingered himself, for the last few months, Zechs didn’t want to rush prepping him.

 

“Maybe I should give you a vibrator for your birthday,” he mused as he continued to fuck Trowa with just one finger, curving it until he was able to find Trowa’s prostate. 

 

“Maybe,” he agreed with a moan.

 

Zechs used his free hand to spread more lube on his fingers before attempting to add a second finger. 

 

By the time he added a third finger, Trowa was panting and rocking back to meet each movement of Zechs’ hand. A flush had spread over his shoulders, neck and face, and his breathing was ragged.

 

“More?” Zechs teased him.

 

“ _ More _ had better mean your cock,” was Trowa’s reply. He reached towards the dresser for a condom and thrust it at Zechs. 

 

Zechs smirked as he accepted it and removed his fingers from Trowa’s body. 

 

Trowa watched over his shoulder, green eyes intently focused on Zechs’ cock, as he opened the condom and rolled on. He spread a generous dollop of lube over the shaft, stroking his hand over the covered flesh to spread it fully.

 

He adjusted Trowa’s legs again, spreading them even further, and he teased the broad head of his cock against Trowa’s anus.

 

“Ready?”

 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Trowa growled and tried to impale himself.

 

The angle wasn’t quite right, but Zechs used one hand to steady himself and gripped Trowa’s right hip with his other. 

 

He entered Trowa’s body slowly, enjoying every second, the slow slide  deep into Trowa’s body until he was completely buried. He felt incredible, the intense sensation of heat and pressure exactly what Zechs had craved for so long.

 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Trowa groaned, low and soft, and Zechs had to agree with the sentiment.

 

Zechs pulled out nearly all of the way and slowly pushed back in. It felt like heaven.

 

“You’re perfect,” he said, pressing a kiss to Trowa’s neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. 

 

Trowa arched his neck back and Zechs traced the line of it with his tongue before pulling out and thrusting back into Trowa, more forcefully this time, and they both groaned. He could feel Trowa’s throat vibrate under his lips and he did it again, enjoying the unique sensation.

 

“Harder. Please,” Trowa begged.

 

Zechs was more than happy to oblige, even though it meant shifting away.

 

He gripped Trowa’s hips with both hands and looked down as he pulled out and then plunged back into his body, the force of his movement carrying both of them forward.

 

Trowa groaned again, and moved to brace his elbows against the wall before Zechs repeated the motion.

 

It felt like Trowa’s body was  _ consuming _ him, and the sounds Trowa made as Zechs did his level best to pound him into the wall encouraged him to press deeper, to thrust harder, until they both had a fine sheen of perspiration on their bodies. The sound of their ragged breathing, mingled with their groans and the slap of flesh as they moved together, echoed in the otherwise silent room. 

 

Zechs could feel his climax approaching, could feel the heaviness in his balls and the rush of liquid heat deep in his loins and he clung to Trowa, fingers no doubt bruising his sensitive flesh.

 

He came with shocking force. The clench of Trowa’s body as he thrust with each wave of pleasure, each spurt of come, was almost overwhelming.

 

It took him a moment to recover from the blinding pleasure, to catch his breath and realize that his head was cradled between Trowa’s shoulders.

 

He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to  _ exist _ , outside of that moment, but then Trowa was shifting against him, the motion teasing Zechs’ over-sensitive cock. 

 

Holding Trowa in place with one hand, Zechs eased out of his body and then pulled Trowa flush against him, straightening him up, and looked down to see Trowa’s cock, hard and shining with precum.

 

“Something you’d like me to take care of?” Zechs teased.

 

Trowa trembled in his arms as Zechs moved one hand over Trowa’s lean hip, stroking over his thigh and then taking Trowa’s erection in hand.

 

Trowa made a sound in the back of his throat, something between a whimper and a groan. Something that certainly encouraged Zechs to wrap Trowa’s cock in a firm grip and work over the shaft.

 

He flicked his thumb over the head, pressing against the sensitive skin, and Trowa made that sound again.

 

Zechs nuzzled against Trowa’s throat, lips teasing as he crept towards Trowa’s jaw. Trowa turned his face and met Zechs’ lips with his own, eager and pleading.

 

The angle couldn’t have been comfortable, but Zechs plundered Trowa’s mouth, swallowing his erratic sounds of pleasure as Zechs continued to stroke him,  twisting his wrist and teasing the underside of his cock, until he had Trowa thrusting into his hand.

 

The trembling of Trowa’s thighs, the flexing of his ass against Zechs’ groin, cued him into the other man’s imminent climax.

 

Zechs tightened his grip and delved deeper into Trowa’s mouth, tongue sweeping through the hot cavern just as Trowa cried out and his cock swelled in Zechs’ hand.

 

Trowa pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, head falling back against Zechs’ shoulder, as Zechs stroked him through the orgasm, easing his grip while he coaxed spurts of cum from Trowa, until finally Trowa’s cock was spent.

 

“I think,” Zechs said after pressing a kiss to Trowa’s cheek, “that that was well worth the wait.”

 

Trowa chuckled and eased away from Zechs. He looked up at him with a smirk.

 

“If you say so. I’d rather not go another four months before you fuck me again, though.”

 

“I think you’ll at least have to wait a few hours,” Zechs told him.

 

Trowa smirked and stretched, the curve of his lips growing as Zechs’ eyes followed the shifting of his muscles.

 

“Shower?” he suggested.

 

“Yes.” Zechs pulled off the condom and tied it off. “A shower would be perfect.”

 

As much as Zechs had enjoyed the earlier shower, had certainly enjoyed finally being naked and pressed against Trowa again, there was something far more intimate about  _ this _ shower. Smoothing soap over Trowa’s body had less to do with arousal than simply touching him and having him close. And even though Trowa smirked and teased, the kisses he pressed against Zechs’ skin and mouth were gentle, subtle caresses. 

 

Afterwards, they climbed into bed and Trowa tucked himself against Zechs’ front, allowing Zechs to curve an arm around his waist.

 

Zechs buried his nose in Trowa’s hair, inhaling deeply and feeling sated in a way that he wasn’t sure he  _ ever _ had.

 

“How do you feel about Lake Tahoe?” he asked.

 

“Mm?” Trowa sounded as though he had been close to drifting off to sleep. “I’ve never been.”

 

“My sister and I spend New Year’s there, skiing.”

 

“Sounds nice.”

 

“You should come.”

 

Trowa rolled over, and Zechs could just barely make out his face in the dark. Trowa hadn’t put his glasses back on, after the shower, and his eyes glimmered.

 

“You want me to meet your sister?”

 

“Yes. I had to meet your friends, after all.”

 

Trowa snorted and kissed Zechs.

 

“You still haven’t met  _ my _ sister,” he reminded him.

 

Based on what Trowa had divulged about Catherine, Zechs wasn’t in any rush to remedy that.

 

Trowa rolled back over.

 

“So New Year’s in Lake Tahoe, should I come visit you for Valentine’s Day? I could probably sell Quatre on running a feature.”

 

“A feature about  _ us _ ?” The idea was a little horrifying.

 

“No,” Trowa paused to yawn. “About spending Valentine’s Day in New York City.”

 

It felt good, to have Trowa in his arms, to make plans to spend more time together.

 

“I want to see you whenever I can,” Zechs confessed.

 

“Good.” Trowa adjusted the pillow under his head and then brought Zechs’ hand up to rest on his chest, tangling their fingers together. “So do I.”

  
  


-o-


End file.
